Forget Me Not
by Sache8
Summary: COMPLETE! Senator Sabé Naberrie of Naboo is unexpectedly reunited with an old friend when she requests aid in uncovering a threat to her people. Sequel to Dance With the Stars. SabeWan fic. Cowritten with Melyanna
1. Changes

**TITLE**- Forget Me Not

**AUTHORS**- Sache8 and Melyanna

**RATING**- PG-13 (mush, and… well, yeah. Basically just mush. Although I suppose you could count substance abuse issues)

**GENRE**- Romance/ Mystery

**PAIRINGS**- Sabewan, Saché/OC, and even more OC's

**SUMMARY**- Senator Sabé Naberrie of Naboo is unexpectedly reunited with an old friend when she requests aid in uncovering a threat to her people. Sequel to _Dance With the Stars_.

**DISCLAIMER**- All hail the Great Flannelled One.

* * *

**_Author's Pre-Note:_** This is sequel to _Dance With the Stars_, which was pretty much TPM… with a twist. I'd recommend reading that to understand the details of the Naberrie family and the Naboo government in _this_ story, which differ slightly from canon. Also, the characters of Helaine Trillium and Lanelle Caine belong to **padawan lunetta**, and make some fun cameos in this tale.

* * *

**_Dramatis Personae_**

Jon Bakuro- _human male – businessman from Naboo_  
Dooji Bip – _Gungan male – Gungan senatorial representative_  
Lanelle Caine – _human female - Jedi Master_  
Saché Drianna- _human female – handmaiden to Senator Vána_  
Obi-Wan Kenobi – _human male – Jedi Knight_  
Ceidron Metz – _human male – political science student from Commenor_  
Claria Elsinoré Naberrie – _human female – Princess of Naboo_  
Richard Naberrie – _human male – Prince and King-Elect of Naboo_  
Sabé Vána Naberrie – _human female – Princess and Senator of Naboo_  
Yvenne Sorenst – _human female – Manager of Retisan Ranch, Naboo _  
Anakin Skywalker – _human male – Jedi Padawan_  
Helaine Trillium – _human female – Jedi Padawan_

* * *

**Chapter One**- _Changes_

_Theed, Naboo_

The sunlight that streamed into the east conference room seemed to shimmer, to sparkle. In its midst stood Richard Naberrie, hands clasped behind his back and chin raised high. It was a familiar pose for him, a sign of masked impatience that none but his family recognized. But Padmé recognized it, as she always did.

"Good morning, Richard. Sorry I'm late," she said as she entered the conference room. "Did you sleep well?"

"For the two hours in which I was asleep, yes," Richard replied, feeling as if his eyelids were being propped up somehow. "If I didn't know better, I'd think my dear sister planned to have the election happen in the middle of the night by Theed time. Why was that, anyway?"

Padmé merely smiled cryptically. "Didn't you pay attention to the election committee briefings, brother? For shame. I should have the election results declared null and void."

"All they said was that it would be taking place at 1500 hours, Otoh Gunga time—oh." Richard lowered his head. "The Gungans were voting in this election."

His sister shook her head. "Honestly, Richard, it's being hailed as 'the triumph of Amidala's reign,' bringing the Gungans actively into government."

Richard planted his hands on his hips and looked at her. "I think that's the work of historians wanting to forget that you were the first ruler in centuries to send their sons into battle."

"Whether or not that is true," Padmé said in the voice that meant that she secretly agreed with something that could be controversial, "the Gungans _are_ the reason the election was held at that time. I spent the better part of two terms convincing Parliament to abolish the old anti-Gungan laws, and Mother spent the better part of her life trying to. The last thing we wanted to do was tell the Gungans that they had to be up at midnight to vote in this election."

"So it was better to have the actual candidates up later than that?"

"Exactly." Padmé smiled and suddenly hugged him. "Congratulations, Richard. I couldn't have a better successor."

"Thank you, Padmé." Richard hugged her back a little awkwardly. "You've left me surprisingly big shoes to fill, for such a small person."

"You know that you'll always have me around to give you advice," she replied. "Unless, of course, you decide to send your sister off somewhere to keep her out of your hair."

"Well, actually, Padmé," he said, "I was talking with Sabé last night before the vote started."

"Yes?"

"She wants to come home soon. Actually, her exact words were 'I'm sick and tired of being cooped up on Coruscant all the time. I want to travel, and it's frustrating having to be within an hour of the Senate chambers all the time in case there's a vote.' And then she told me not to tell you that."

Padmé smiled, linking her arm in her brother's and strolling toward the doorway. "Well, Sabé _did_ agree to replace Senator Malinz on his passing. I didn't really expect her to enjoy the task—after all, what she's always wanted to be is an ambassador. I'm surprised that she managed to stay there on Coruscant for the last year and a half."

"Poor, poor Sabé," Richard said as they crossed the corridor and into a courtyard. "If she hadn't teased me so much when we were little, I might feel sorry for her."

She laughed. "I think you played enough tricks on her and withheld enough information from her to make things even. Or have you forgotten Master Nenshall so soon?"

Richard chuckled appreciatively. "Of course not. But that wasn't withholding information, that was not speaking until spoken to."

"Which is exactly what Sabé would call it if she did such a thing." Padmé sighed. "How is it that you're more like my twin sister than I am?"

"I don't know, Padmé," he replied. "I don't know."

They took a turn through the courtyard, and Richard asked, "So what will my oldest and most ambitious sister be doing with herself now that she's unemployed?"

She gave him a sharp look. "I've got another three months to figure that out, Richard. I haven't left office quite yet."

They stopped and faced each other. "Mother and Father would have been so proud," she said. "I wish they could have seen this day."

Richard nodded solemnly. It had been two years since their father had died, from the lasting effects of disease and age. Before the Trade Federation invasion, not many people would have realized how old the Prince Consort was, but afterward everyone remembered that while Leiandra had married young, Armand had not. He had never fully recovered from the disease he'd contracted in the camps, and finally his weakened heart had failed him.

It had been their father's death more than anything else which had forced Richard to look at his life and his responsibilities. At fifteen he was the only male left in his line, and it was time for him to get serious about his place in the Naberrie family. He had begun then to look at Padmé as a mentor, and to everyone's surprise he showed a remarkable aptitude for politics. Family connections or not, he'd never shown an interest in it, let alone talent.

By the time he reached his seventeenth birthday, Padmé had sent him around the planet on missions negotiating trade agreements, settling labor disputes, and even attending formal functions in her name. And she had sought his counsel when she decided not to run for a third term, wanting to know if he was ready for the crown.

Padmé squeezed his hand. "You will make a good King, little brother," she said. "And you will one day make a good husband and father, if you ever decide to settle down."

He smiled and kissed her cheek. "And what a scandal that would cause. Youngest child married before his three older sisters."

"If a scandal keeps men from chasing me everywhere, then so be it." Padmé smiled, and together they laughed.

* * *

_Coruscant_

Scientists and historians had long speculated as to Coruscant's original landscape and climate. What had it been like before it became the great city? Jon Bakuro was no scientist, but he always imagined that its people had been driven indoors because they were cold. He always felt a chill when he was out-of-doors on the capital.

Perhaps the chill was due to the never-ending breezes, which whipped in a random cacophony over, under, and around him. They came from everywhere and nowhere. They were without order, created by the endless lines of traffic speeding its way through the skies. They brought the smell of industry and commerce, the sounds of trillions of people, and (to some) the taste of power.

Jon, like many of the Naboo, saw Coruscant only as a necessary evil. He was a businessman, and galaxy-wide business thrived best if Coruscant was part of it. But compared to the fertile, lush fields and spectacular waterfalls of home, the capital seemed cold and imposing. He'd been coming here at regular intervals for nearly seven years, but it was only recently that he'd begun to look forward to his visits with genuine anticipation.

His footsteps fell heavily on the duracrete of the landing platform as he stepped off the gangplank of his ship, _Kaserta's Glory_. Coruscant's gravity wasn't very different from Naboo's, but it was nonetheless noticeable. He raised his arm in greeting to a young man standing several feet away, who returned the gesture with a pleasant smile.

"What brings you to the eyesore of the galaxy on this fine day, Bakuro?" the young man called, his voice muffled slightly by the whipping wind.

"The usual," Jon called back. "And yourself?"

Immen Rizzo grinned. "Baby-sitting the Princess. What else would you expect?"

Jon laughed, and reaching his friend, gave him a hearty handshake. "Where is she? I thought she was coming to see me herself."

Rizzo shrugged. "She got a call from a friend here in the city who wanted to see her about something important." Jon gave him a puzzled look, and he added, "I don't know what it's about. She seemed pretty distracted over it, so I'm wondering if I should have gone with her."

"Didn't you send someone?"

"Yeah, I sent Typho. He's very capable."

"Ah yes, I think I met him once or twice. Didn't either of the girls go with her?"

"Nah. I think she wanted to get away, or as much away as we'll allow her. Saché's been really agitated the last couple of days. I think she dusted the suite at least three times already. It was starting to drive Sabé crazy."

_Saché drives me crazy_, Jon thought wryly. Aloud, he said, "That doesn't seem like Saché." At Rizzo's surprised expression, he added hastily, "the agitation, I mean. I know the obsessive cleaning isn't unusual."

"Oh, yeah. Well, don't look at me pal. I don't know what's up with her. So what exactly brings you to town this time?"

"Red tape. We're looking to get a license to ship to Rinalio. I need to come get the paperwork filled out."

"How long you staying?"

Jon shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'll play it by ear. What is it?" he asked, when Rizzo started laughing.

"Oh, nothing. It must be nice, that's all. Rich entrepreneur. Come and go as you please, you know. While I'm stuck here for the rest of forever babysitting Princesses and handmaidens."

"It will hardly be for the rest of forever. You did hear the election news, right? I can't imagine Sabé will want to stay here once Richard is on the throne."

"Okay. Maybe it just _feels_ like forever."

"You know, Immen, in some ways I envy you too."

"Right. How's that?"

"Oh, surrounded by beautiful women all the time, you know. It gets lonely being an entrepreneur sometimes."

Rizzo snorted. "You know as well as I do that Sabé's beauty quickly becomes forgettable when she gets angry. Besides," he added, a small measure of regret creeping into his voice, "I've already been the handmaiden route."

"My cousin hasn't changed her mind again, eh?"

"No." Rizzo looked sad, but resigned. "It was nice that we had something for a little while, but I don't think she ever really felt the way I do."

Jon gave his friend an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder.

"And what about you, Jon? You should have been married ages ago. You're starting to get too old for your ladies' man reputation now, don't you think?"

At the ripe old age of twenty-five, Jon thought no such thing, but by Naboo standards he was indeed past his due time to settle. "I suppose it's just not time yet," he said. It was a neutral answer, something to waylay Rizzo from this particular topic. The truth was that he'd long decided exactly whom he would like to marry, but it was a secret he'd shared with few.

She'd been only thirteen when they'd met seven years ago- a quiet little slip of a thing who had amused him with her antics. He remembered it very clearly, how she'd boldly reached over and straightened his vest because it's crooked state was annoying her. Sometime afterward, both Sabé and his cousin, Eirtaé, had warned him not to bait her anymore.

_"Saché is not like the other girls here, Jon,"_ Sabé had said firmly. _"She doesn't know how to play the games that you and I play. She's already quite taken with you, and I won't have you hurting her." _

He had heeded their advice, and treated the lady afterwards with the utmost cordiality, doing his best to never lead her on. It was a novel experience, for flirting with and teasing _any_ girl was just something he did. Eventually, Saché had come out of her shell and they'd become respected friends. It wasn't until this had been going on for nearly four years that he began to realize he'd never had a friend quite like her. There was something so refreshing about her modesty and reserve. He felt so relaxed when he was around her, and it didn't take long for this newfound respect to start becoming something more.

Jon had been sorely tempted, on many occasions, to forget his promise to Sabé and Eirtaé, and try to woo the shy handmaiden. They _had_ said she'd admired him, after all. Once or twice he had even tried it, but the alarm in her mannerisms on those occasions had led him to conclude one thing. She no longer had any feelings for him, and he'd best leave off.

So he had devoted himself to his thriving business, keeping himself so occupied he hardly had time to think of her, yet every visit to Naboo, and more recently Coruscant, when he knew he'd see her, was both an anticipated and dreaded experience. He wondered if he would find any hope this time.

"You're having dinner with the Senator tonight, I believe?" Rizzo asked as they boarded the shuttle that would take them to Sabé's apartments.

"Yes, that's right."

"I'm not sure when she'll be back. I don't think it'll be too long. Until then, you'll just have to let the girls keep you company, I've got some other things to get done. Will that be all right?"

"I think I can handle it, Immen."

Rizzo laughed. "You are so bad, Jon. Well, you know Saché, she buttons up like a muskbowl in a crowd, but Dormé seems like your type. You should get on pretty well." His eyes twinkled.

"Thanks, Immen." On the outside, Jon laughed, but inside he found Rizzo's conclusions to be bittersweetly ironic.

* * *

_Outside Rialdas, Rial, Naboo_

The core waterways of Naboo connected most of the major bodies of water on the planet, supporting a global habitat of sea life which would otherwise be impossible to sustain on a planet with no oceans. The ecosystem had proved enigmatic to scientists for centuries. In the latter part of her second term, Amidala had expanded ecological research all over Naboo, dotting the landscape with scientific outposts, most of which were staffed by personnel from the University of Theed.

One such outpost was situated on the banks of Lake Erana, in the southern hemisphere district Rial. Its primary focus was the colo claw fish, which had nurseries there. But at the moment, the personnel of the outpost were far more concerned with the tusk-cat which had been found on the premises early that morning, its shoulder badly injured.

Tusk-cats had once roamed that area wild, but centuries ago the Naboo had domesticated them. They were used as mounts and beasts of burden all across the Rial district. The nearest ranch was Retisan Ranch, which actually encompassed the small outpost. So, the marine biologists had wasted no time in calling the ranch's manager, and now they were relieved to see her arrive in a huge vehicle, one large enough to transport the tusk-cat without any difficulty.

Professor Lera Morrtenne waved at the woman from the porch of the building. Yvenne Sorenst was surprisingly young for one in her position on the largest ranch on the planet, but most people forgot how young she really was after they spent some time around her. She was more than competent, unlike her predecessor, so Morrtenne was quite happy to deal with her when the situation demanded it.

The redhead was smiling as she and a few ranch hands approached the building. "I hear you have one of our cats, Lera," she said cheerfully.

"Yeah, it gave one of the interns quite a shock this morning when he went to check on the south generator," Lera replied. "Don't think it could do much damage, though, unless you got really close to it."

Yvenne laughed. "Nala's usually pretty docile, but I'd rather not see what she could do when she feels threatened." She looked past the professor, toward the lakeshore. "By the south generator, you said?"

Lera nodded. The manager waved her men off in that direction, and they headed off. Yvenne, meanwhile, walked up the steps of the building. "So how are things going here, aside from the occasional and random arrival of tusk-cats?" she asked.

"Oh, we're doing all right," the professor replied. "Things are getting tight, though. We're having to grapple for funding again."

"Didn't you just get that big grant from the Royal Science Academy?"

"We're one of the finalists for it," Lera clarified. "The winner won't be announced for another month, after a last interview." She frowned as they entered the warm building, the walls of which were lined with computers, monitors, and charts. Most of the people at the various terminals, or at the chemistry station, were pretty young, students at universities. "And I hate to say it, but we've had a problem come up that might actually help us get the money."

Yvenne frowned. "What do you mean?"

The professor led her over to one of the charts. "This is a graph of the colo claw fish population in Lake Erana over the last fifteen years or so," she said, pointing out a green line on the diagram. "It's been fairly consistent, but recently we've seen a sharp decline." She indicated red, blue, and purple lines too, which were lower than the green one, but followed the same basic contour. "These are the male and female populations, and the hatching rate in that population. They've all fallen off the same way too."

"How bizarre," the manager said, still frowning. "What have you ruled out so far as causes?"

"Disease and malnutrition are unlikely," Lera replied. "We'd be seeing carcasses washing up, and we've not seen anything like that." She coughed. "That's part of the reason for the urgency in getting that grant. We'd like to take a one-man submersible down and check to see if there's some sort of new predator down there. We'd be seeing some evidence that way, I hope."

Yvenne started to say more, but then one of the ranch hands reappeared at the door. "Ma'am," he said, "Nala's not letting anyone near her."

"Oh dear." Yvenne turned toward the door. "Well, it was nice talking with you again. Hope everything works out."

"Feel free to stop by any time," said Lera, and then Yvenne was out the door, back into the heat of the morning.

The south generator wasn't far away, and Yvenne could already hear the tusk-cat growling long before she actually saw anything. Then, once they had rounded the generator, she saw the cat flashing her teeth as the two ranch hands stood a good distance back. "Nala!" she called.

The cat turned a look of disdain toward Yvenne, and she smiled. "Should we get the tranqs?" one of the hands asked.

"Just get the transport and bring it down here," she replied. "I'll keep Nala here company."

When the hands came back with the transport, Yvenne was lying on her stomach on the grass talking to the tusk-cat. She figured this was a relatively non-threatening treatment, and it did get Nala to stop flashing her teeth every two seconds, and every time something moved. Still, while most people would have thought that this showed a confidence and comfort level with the cats, she was, in fact, moderately terrified by her proximity to it. She was pretty good with animals, but she still preferred it when they weren't being hostile.

So when the hands got out of the transport, she said, as calmly as she could manage: "Could you please tranquilize this thing now?"

One of the ranch hands had the tranquilizer on hand and fired it at the tusk-cat. Nala roared once before collapsing into a heavy sleep, and the hands started to move her into the transport. The one who still had the tranquilizer in his hand helped Yvenne to her feet, and he said, "Well, ma'am, I'm glad you insisted on coming this morning. I don't think we could have managed getting her calm enough."

"Just be glad this happened today instead of tomorrow. I'm leaving for Rialdas tonight and won't be back for a few days," she replied. The other two men closed the transport doors, securing Nala inside, and she clapped her hands together once, adding, "All right, everyone, we've got lots of work to do. Let's get this kitty back to the stables."

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks to all of you who so patiently waited for us to get this ball rolling. I'm really happy with this story, and sit back for a lovely, romantic (but still plot-compelling, I hope) ride!

Feedback is always loved and adored!

Saché 


	2. Enlightenment

**Chapter Two** – _Enlightenment_

_Coruscant _

"How long has it been, Dex?"

"Not long, lass. Last time you came to see me was, what, two months ago?"

Sabé smiled, and took a taste of her still-steaming pitte, Dex's specialty. It had lost none of its savor over the years. "I know that, I meant how long since I first came here?"

"Ah." Dexter Jettster leaned back in his seat and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Seven and a half years, isn't it? Seven and a half years since the blockade."

"I'm glad I ran into you that day, Dex. It has been good to have a friend here in the city."

"Well, it has been my pleasure, certainly, but I know I'm not your _only_ friend here."

"I respect the Chancellor in many ways, Dex, but I don't really consider him a friend."

Dex leaned forward again, a knowing look blazing in his orange-flecked eyes. "I wasn't speaking of the Chancellor, girlie. Have you not seen any of your friend Obi-Wan since you came here?"

Sabé shook her head and shrugged. "I've only been here a year and a half. He's been much occupied with missions, I suppose. I've only had one letter since then."

"Aye, aye. I can see how that would be." Dex crossed his top pair of arms on the dirty tabletop. "That boy is something else, I tell you. Smart as a whip, he is. I've had him in here several times since you sent him my way."

"He's thirty-two years old, Dex. He's hardly a boy."

"Where I come from, lassie, he's a boy. You yourself shouldn't be out of school, and they make you a Senator?" He shook his head, chuckling.

"That's rich, coming from someone who I doubt even _went_ to school, Dex Jettster."

Dex only laughed harder as Sabé took another bite of her pitte. "Fair enough, Princess, but I did have an education of sorts."

"Somehow I don't think you asked me to come to talk about schooldays and old friends, Dex. What's on your mind?"

Dex's amusement subsided, and he looked quickly around the diner. His new waitress, Hermione, was wiping off the counter, and everyone else seemed otherwise occupied. Dex leaned in even closer, and spoke softly. Sabé noticed, however, that he did not whisper.

"I know a fine, upstanding girl like yourself doesn't deal much with certain, er, _levels_ of society. I must say that your family's reputation is stellar. Almost too stellar. It is a rare thing these days for politicians to rise as high as yourselves without making a few compromises."

"Our successes in that regard are due to the legacy of our ancestors."

"Yes, of course. My point, Princess, is that information of a less than savory nature does not cross your path as often as the paths of your colleagues, because your intolerance of it is widely known."

"That is good, is it not?"

"Very. But it can be blinding. That's why I called you here today. I'll tell you something you might want to know, provided you ask no questions about my resources. That's the price, Princess. You're a good girl, I don't want to hurt your sensibilities too badly."

"Now you _are_ making me feel like a naive school girl, Dex. Very well. Tell me what it is you think I should know."

"There is a dangerous new drug on the black market, Princess. Absolutely illegal, very harmful. No medicinal purposes, no possible benefit to anyone. It's called glowquartz."

Sabé sat up a little straighter, feeling indignant. "I've heard of glowquartz. I'm not that out of the loop as you seem to think I am. I'm a Senator, and a member of a royal family, Dex. It is my responsibility to be aware of things that might bring harm to our people."

"Good, Princess. Very good. Then you should know that the manufacture or the distribution of glowquartz has some kind of Naboo connection."

Sabé's blood suddenly felt colder. "Naboo?" she repeated, a little shocked. "We've never had major drug problems on Naboo."

"You do now."

Sabé was sorely tempted to break her promise and ask him how he had learned this. But she knew it would be useless; Dex would never tell her if he didn't want to. "You're sure your… _source_ was reliable?" she asked hesitantly. He nodded, displaying complete confidence. She opened and closed her mouth several times before asking, "Is there anything else you can tell me? Anything at all? Do you have any idea exactly what kind of connection?"

Noting that Sabé had finished her pitte, Dex took her bowl and stacked it with his, then added their glasses to the pile, making a lot of noise as he said, "All I was told was that without Naboo, glowquartz would be off the market."

Sabé exhaled slowly, letting her breath hiss between her teeth. "We need to find out how, and stop it Dex." He looked at her in mild consternation. "Oh, not _we_ as in you and I," she said, laughing a little. "We as in Naboo, somehow. I don't want our people a part of this."

Every story she'd ever heard about the illicit drug was now running wildly through her head at lightspeed. A powerful hallucinogen, it was injected into the bloodstream and its effects could last for days. The drug was so new that any long-term affects had not yet been determined, but despite its dangers, it was quickly gaining a steady foothold in the galaxy's drug traffic market. Some said that if it continued at its current acceleration, it would soon rival glitterstim in its popularity.

"I've got to stop it," she whispered again. She looked up. "Thank you for telling me Dex. Is there…?" she swallowed, "is there anything else I might want to know. Anything that might help me?"

"You shouldn't get mixed up personally in this, Princess. You should find people who know what they're doing. People you trust– let them handle it."

"Is there anything else, Dex?" she asked again firmly, ignoring his question.

Dex leaned back and sighed. "I don't know for certain, but popular opinion is that the drug is distributed from Jenispra. It's a mid-rim world. Not far from Naboo, actually, which only lends support to my information."

"Yes, I'm familiar with Jenispra." Sabé swallowed again, and closed her eyes. She couldn't say why, but she found Dex's news sorely grievous. Naboo was supposed to be free of anything as horrific as drugs. It had its problems with petty crime, but the prosperous peace was highly cherished by its entire people. Or so she had always tried to convince herself.

_Perhaps its time to finally put away the very last illusions of childhood. _

"Thank you for telling me, Dex. You are truly a good friend."

"You're welcome, Sabé."

"I must be going, I'm afraid. I'm expecting a friend from Naboo for dinner this evening, and I think he may have already arrived."

"A gentleman caller, eh?" Dex asked with a mischievous smile.

Sabé laughed. "No, not for me, Dex. Just an old friend." She walked over and gave the large alien as big a hug as she could muster, and he in turn nearly crushed her in his four arms.

"Be safe, lass," he admonished one last time. "Be safe."

* * *

_Outside Rialdas, Rial, Naboo _

The Rial district looked nothing like what Richard had imagined.

Naboo was usually thought to be a green place, bejeweled with lakes and waterfalls, but Richard now knew that such descriptions only held true for parts of the planet. Rivers were certainly common here in Rial, as were large lakes, but the terrain was flat, and in places nothing grew. The resulting color was a cross between green and brown, except for the vibrant yellow fields of alonac. Those were almost blinding in the hot afternoon sun.

Come to think of it, it was unbearably hot, too. The young Prince was used to spending his summers in the Naberrie lands, where summer nights were crisp enough to warrant a young man lending his jacket to a young woman. Theed was also much colder, with her harsh, bitter winters that buried everything, alive or dead, in snow drifts that reached the rooftops of some homes. Richard doubted these people had ever heard of snow, let alone seen it.

The ranch for which he was headed had been in sight for half an hour now, and it looked to be no closer now than it had been when his driver had first pointed it out. Richard shifted in his seat and sighed. The driver looked over his shoulder. "We're getting there as quickly as we can, milord."

"No, Banks, it's all right," he replied. "I'm just used to country where you see more."

"You've got alonac, tusk-cats, and greyvaké out here. What more could a man want?" Banks joked. "No, I understand. You're from the city; the country must be a lonely place to you."

"Yes, but I know almost nothing about the Rial district." Richard coughed. "This will be a good learning experience for me."

"They say that out here you can travel a day on the back of a tusk-cat and not see another soul. It's lonely country."

That was apparently all that Banks could say on the subject, for the next half hour passed in silence, until they reached the lane up to the ranch house. "There you are, milord," the driver said. "Retisan Ranch, home of the powerful and wealthy Retisan family."

Richard opened the door and stepped out of the speeder and into the sweltering heat. "Yes, Banks, I'd already ascertained that much."

They walked up to the mansion, and when they entered, Richard stopped dead in his tracks. He was used to the cool, crisp, stone halls of Theed Palace; this entryway was vaulted to a sharp peak, and the long corridor that led to another exterior door at the other end was entirely wood. It amazed Richard to see it all, with its ornately carved wooden moldings and ornaments. The foyer must have been very old, or very expensive - possibly both - because the only forests in this part of Naboo had been declared protected regions a decade before.

"Your Highness." A voice issued from Richard's left, and he turned to see that one of the massive wooden panels had swung open. A sharply overdressed man appeared in the doorway. "If you would come with me," he said, "Lord Retisan is expecting you."

The man turned around and left as abruptly as he had appeared. From behind him, Richard heard Banks mutter: "I'm sure he's expecting us. What else would he do when a King is coming?"

Richard stifled a laugh as the two followed the servant through the house. Banks, like several members of the royal guard, had come to Theed to study one thing and become something very different. In his case, he'd been studying the theatre when approached by Panaka. Apparently, the captain had seen him in a play which required extensive sword work, and he'd been impressed with Banks's athleticism and stamina. Six months later he had graduated and been placed on Richard's guard, and Richard was glad to have him there.

They passed through another door and entered a spacious, bright hall. For a moment the young Prince thought he had entered a room like the rooms back at home, but he soon realized that this was merely a different kind of wood than the foyer had been. It was nearly white, and with a wall of transparisteel facing the sunset, it was rather bright inside. Richard blinked several times as he looked around. At the far end of the room sat a middle-aged man in a high-backed wooden chair that vaguely resembled a primitive throne. Three men who looked to be Richard's age stood when he entered the room, but the older man did not. Richard kept his surprise to himself as he approached.

"Prince Richard," the man said. "It is a pleasure to meet you at last."

"Likewise," Richard replied, nodding.

"I am Lord Retisan, and these are my sons." The lord gestured to the three younger men. "Mirak, Arath, and Rastan."

The men bowed in unison, and Richard nodded to them as well. "A pleasure."

He would have said more, but then Lord Retisan spoke again. "My lord, I'm sure you are tired from your journey and would prefer to rest before the evening meal is served."

The Prince looked at Retisan curiously. Very few dared to guess the mind of the royalty, and he wasn't quite sure what to make of this man. Still, he was here to work at the ranch, not just reside there. "Very well, Lord Retisan," he said.

Retisan motioned to the man who had directed them thither, and Richard was led away again. From behind them, Banks whispered, "Warm, friendly people, eh?"

Richard shook his head and smiled. Banks was, as usual, right.

* * *

_Coruscant_

The private chef Sabé had hired for her suite on Coruscant more than earned his credits. His dishes were usually a source of delight for Saché, but tonight she could have been eating the finest prime nerf cutlets and she would not have noticed. She'd barely eaten any of her meal, though she'd done a great deal of staring at it on her plate.

Jon was here. She could never accomplish anything mundane when he was around. She'd known he was coming, of course, but she sometimes thought the anticipation only made things worse. Her usual calm, level-headed self seemed to disappear into hyperspace a week before any of his visits, and was replaced by someone agitated, nervous, excited, and resolved. Every time she vowed that she would open up, be more relaxed around him, give him some sign.

Every time she failed miserably.

_Let's face it. I'm just not cut from the outgoing cloth. _

Before long, she knew, she would relax. He was, after all, her friend, and she'd known him for years. Too many years. Long enough for her to know _exactly_ the kind of women he preferred.

"You've been very quiet tonight, Saché." Sitting next to her at the table, Jon's voice caused her to jump a little. She looked up from the plantane slices she'd been nudging with her fork, to see him studying her with concern. Sabé, Dormé, and Dooji were talking about this morning's Senate session, which Dormé had been unable to attend.

Saché put her fork down and folded her hands in her lap, smiling a little. "You know me, I'm always quiet."

"Quiet, yes. Absolutely silent, no. Is something wrong? Are your parents well?"

"Quite well, sir, thank you."

"Then what?"

His concern was heartwarming, and she smiled a little more. "I'm just tired, that's all."

"Well, I can understand that," Jon agreed. "Living with Sabé every day must be exhausting." He caught the Princess's eye across the table and winked at her, causing her to roll her eyes.

"I won't argue there," Saché said, laughing quietly. Sabé stuck her tongue out at Saché.

"Oooh, not very ladylike, Princess," Jon teased.

"That's _Senator_ to you, Jon Bakuro."

"Sorry."

Sabé returned to whatever she had been telling Dormé, so Saché took the opportunity to ask, "How is business, Jon?"

"Business is business. Some days are fine, some days you want to rip your hair out."

"You seem to be shipping everywhere in the Mid-rim these days."

Jon nodded, took a drink of his wine, and wiped his mouth before continuing. "Sometimes the pace at which we're growing is a little overwhelming. I think after this Rinalio deal goes through, I'm going to try to ease up a bit. Before I get so bogged down I make a foolish mistake."

"I've never heard of Rinalio," Saché commented, taking a drink from her own glass. She could already feel herself beginning to relax. She almost always did, once she got over the initial nervousness of seeing Jon. "What's there to know about it?"

"Agriculture," he said. "They ship a great deal of grain to Coruscant, actually. Not as much as Ukio or Garqi, but a substantial amount nonetheless."

"Why do you think it would be a good prospect for Bakurcom?" Saché asked.

"Lack of competition. Right now the only people shipping off Rinalio are Federation subsidiaries. I already know the Rinalians would be only too happy to have someone else in the market to help drive down shipping costs."

Saché frowned a little. "Jon, don't you think you might have problems getting around Federation control? I mean, Bakurcom _is_ a Naboo company, and the Federation still pulls a lot of influence here on Coruscant."

Jon smiled. "That's true, but not all control. I'm confident that enough people are against a monopoly that I can get the contracts I need. After all, I'm not trying to get _rid_ of Federation business," he pointed out. Then he muttered, "Much as I would like to."

"Wouldn't we all," Saché agreed quietly. The bad blood between Naboo and the Trade Federation had not died since the war almost eight years ago. Saché and many others were still in shock that the Federation had survived that debacle. Clearly, they had very influential support in the Senate, which made Saché all the more concerned that Jon's new deal would not go through.

"Jon," Sabé spoke up from her place at the head of the table, "while we're on the subject of business, I wonder if I might ask you something."

"What's that?"

"How much business do you get on Jenispra?"

"Jenispra? I'd say well over a fifth. It's not that far from Naboo, actually."

What do they export?" asked Dormé.

Jon furrowed his brow, a habit Saché loved dearly. She propped her chin on her hand to hide a smile. "Thramacite," he said slowly, "and pharmaceuticals mostly, thanks to all their tropical plant life. They also have one or two exotic varieties of fruit that bring in a decent credit."

"Hmmn." Sabé seemed thoughtful.

"Why do you ask?" Jon queried as he took another bite of his plantanes.

Sabé looked up at him and licked her lips a little, as if she were hesitant about something. Saché was surprised to see concern in her friend's eyes. "Cherith," Sabé said, addressing their server, "would you please clear this?" She held up her almost-empty plate, as well as Dormé's. "I'll ring when I need you again. Please close the door behind you."

Saché looked sideways at Jon, whose expression was mostly guarded, but his eyes betrayed his interest. She herself was deathly curious at the sudden, strange change in Sabé's behavior.

When Cherith had gone, Sabé leaned forward a little. "I'm not anxious for many people to know what I'm about to tell you. An old friend of mine in town called me and said he wanted to talk, so I went to see him today."

Saché pressed her lips together slightly. She knew Sabé had her reasons for her discretion, but Saché hated it when she went somewhere that Saché did not know about. And she'd refused to allow either of the handmaidens to accompany her. It was most frustrating.

"I remember Rizzo saying as much," Jon said. "That's why you weren't here to greet me."

Sabé nodded. Then she took a deep breath. "My friend told me he had reason to believe that there was as strong Naboo connection to the trafficking of glowquartz.

Saché and Dormé let out near-identical gasps, and Jon sat up straighter, hissing a little through his teeth in surprise. Dooji's eyes bulged incredulously. "Dissen crazy!" he cried. "Yousa friend had da bad scoop."

Sabé shook her head. "No, I trust his opinion. He would not have burdened me with this if he didn't think the rumor credible. He also told me Jenispra is heavily involved."

The other three sat in stunned silence, the implications of this pronouncement slowly sinking in. "I've decided it's my responsibility, as Naboo senator, to do something about it," Sabé said, nodding firmly as if determined to reassure herself. "I'm going to pick up the trail of this drug and trace it to whatever Naboo connection it has, and hopefully sever it."

"No!" Saché cried softly. Sabé looked at her wearily, with an expression that clearly said she'd been expecting opposition, and was prepared to fight. "No," Saché repeated more calmly, but more insistently. "We're not equipped to handle that kind of investigation, Sabé. We should tell the authorities."

"And do what?" Dormé asked skeptically. "Wait for them to fix the problem the way they fixed the blockade? We'll be dead in our graves before they ever accomplish anything. I agree with Sabé. We should do it ourselves."

"_We_ aren't doing anything, _I'm_ doing it," Sabé declared, her voice becoming harder. Saché opened her mouth to protest again, but Sabé cut her off. "I'm quite resolved, Saché, so you can just drop it."

Saché looked at her plate, fuming. "You won't know what you're doing," she muttered darkly.

Sabé looked as if she were about to retort, but Jon quickly intervened. "She's right, Sabé. You may think you don't want help, but you're going to need it. I'll come with you."

"Oh, like you know any more about espionage than I do."

"At least you just admitted you don't know much," he pointed out smugly.

Sabé sighed and slumped in her seat. "I'm tired of waiting for other people to take action. Padmé wouldn't stand for it eight years ago, and neither will I do so now." The stubborn set of her shoulders said she was none too happy with Saché and Jon's lack of support.

After a moment's awkward silence, Saché spoke up, more timidly this time. "I can't bear to see you try going off on such a mission alone, my lady. You must admit it is foolhardy. Please tell me you see that."

Sabé looked away, and finally, very slowly, she nodded her head. "Fine. But I don't want to put any of you in danger. I just won't stand for it."

"You think we don't want to fight this thing as much as you do? We're Naboo too, you know," Dormé insisted. Saché and Jon nodded determinedly.

"Ask the Jedi for help!" Saché then cried suddenly, sitting up very straight, an excited look coming over her face. "Sabé, go to the Council, they can give you someone!"

"That's perfect," Jon agreed, excitedly. "The Jedi know how to keep things quiet too, Sabé."

Sabé's eyes flicked quickly between her three friends. "Jedi?" she repeated uncertainly. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Think about it," Dormé insisted. "It's a perfectly reasonable request to make. And you're free tomorrow morning as well, you can go ask them then."

"Yes," Sabé repeated slowly, "Yes, that's true. I am free tomorrow morning." She looked up. "Yes," she said more firmly. "Yes, tomorrow I'll go to the Jedi and ask for some help. Good, that's settled."

Saché let out a quiet breath of relief she didn't know she'd been holding. "And while you're gone," she pointed out, "Dormé, Dooji, and I can look for information here on Coruscant that might help you out."

"Not mesa," said Dooji, narrowing his eyes. "Mesa go wid da Senata."

"Dooji—"

"Disa problem for da Gugans too, Sabé. Mesa goin'." Dooji leveled a gaze at Sabé that brooked no argument.

She gave a slight smile. "Very well. I must admit, it'll be good to have you along."

"I'll be here for several weeks, I can help with the research," input Jon. He glanced briefly between the handmaidens. "We can even work from my offices, they're not as heavily crowded as the Senate buildings. And information requests are not monitored as frequently."

"Excellent," Sabé smiled. "I feel so much better about this. Thank you."

"No problem, Princess. I still think it's silly of you to try this at all, but I know that look in your eyes."

Sabé smiled a little, but did not rise to his bait. "Speaking of tomorrow, Jon," she said, "my morning is free but my evening is not. I have to go to the Corellian Diktat's Gala. Loads of social maneuvering, I'm afraid, but I don't have an escort yet. Would you care to join me?"

"A Naboo Princess with no escort?" Jon _tsked_ under his breath. "That will never do. I'd be happy to, Sabé."

Sabé smiled. "Excellent. Otherwise Rizzo would probably have had to do it. He hates his dress uniform." She smiled wickedly. "Maybe I should make him come anyway."

Saché laughed along with everyone else, but she felt peculiar on the inside. The thought of Jon and Sabé and balls and dancing put her in mind of the first time she'd met him, at Claria's coming out. How long ago it seemed, and yet at the same time, how quickly the years had gone by. Claria was now a mature young woman, studying music at the University of Theed. Jon was a successful businessman, no longer hiding in his father's shadow, and breaking new ground for Naboo commerce all over the galaxy. And Saché… Saché was still a quiet, unnoticeable handmaiden with no great aspirations, and no dream but the man sitting beside her. She had not changed. She could never seem to change, and for that, Jon Bakuro would never really notice her.

* * *

**Replies:**

**RivendellWriter**- Thanks, I'm very fond of this story.

**Kyae**- Hope your popcorn didn't get too cold between updates!

**ghostrider**- Thank you! Yes, very long-awaited. LOL

**Dragon Girl Revlis**- Thanks! Gotta love those computer quirks… not.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm looking to be updating this story about once a week or so, to pace myself with the material. Just so you, my lovely readers, are aware. :)

Adios!

Saché 


	3. Assignments

**Chapter Three**- _Assignments_

_Coruscant_

"I thank you, Masters, for responding to my request so promptly."

Strangely enough, _prompt_ was a word that well-fitted the lengthy morning it had taken Sabé to acquire an audience with the Jedi Council. Despite the fact that she was a high-ranking Senator, the Jedi were highly tasked with requests for their time, and a same-day interview with the Council itself was almost ludicrous. In the end, Sabé had appealed to Chancellor Palpatine for help. Perhaps this was a bit childish, but her impatience overcame her desire to contribute to galactic equilibrium.

Now, however, she was regretting her presumption, for she got the feeling that the Council was a little annoyed by her sidestep maneuver. The room itself was stark, containing only eight chairs for the eight members of the Council in attendance. Where the other four sat when they were planet-side, Sabé could only guess. Perhaps they did not need to sit at all. She had a brief image of a Hutt on the Council, then shook her head at this most strange and rather frightening thought, and tried to bring her attention back to the matter at hand.

"Chancellor Palpatine did not inform us as to the nature of your request," Mace Windu replied. He was frowning a little, and Sabé knew she was going to have to convey the importance of her message if she was to gain any support that was not grudging.

"I did not tell the Chancellor," she said. "While this matter concerns not only Naboo, but the larger galaxy as well, I feel a certain modicum of discretion is advisable." As briefly as possible, and being careful not to mention Dex by name, she told them her information. While their overall reaction was not as dramatic as Saché's or Dormé's, or even Sabé's own, it was nonetheless what she'd hoped for.

"An important discovery, this is," Master Yoda said shrewdly, almost to himself. "Keeping an ear out, the Jedi have, for information about this glowquartz, but too little has been found."

"You're confident in the reliability of your information?" Mace Windu asked her. The direct authority in his question assisted Sabé in biting her tongue against retorting. She was weary of that question. Did they think her a simpleton? She was a Senator, after all. On the other hand, she mused, as she brought to mind some of her fellow representatives, perhaps it wasn't such a foolhardy question after all.

"I am, Master," she said, deciding that any elaboration would only weaken her position. "Enough that I am going to pursue this matter, with or without your assistance. But I know my chances would be better with the aid of the Jedi."

"You would conduct an investigation alone?" Adi Gallia asked, eyeing Sabé up and down a little disbelievingly.

Sabé set her chin stubbornly. "Representative Bipp of the Gungan delegation would accompany me," she said. "He is as concerned about this matter as I am." She knew this probably would not impress the Council very much, but it was the reinforcement she had on hand.

The Jedi Masters all exchanged meaningful glances, clearly understandable to one another, but leaving Sabé quite in the dark. She bit her lower lip to curtail her annoyance. She had always been better at dishing out superiority than in accepting it, but in recent years she had made an effort to handle it more gracefully than she had in the past. Especially in cases such as this, when those she encountered had every right to behave as her superiors.

"The Jedi will offer you some assistance in your quest, Senator Vána," Master Windu said at last. Sabé let herself relax a little. She was about to ask for specifics, but she was anticipated.

"We shall need to discuss the matter of who best might serve your interests, Senator," Ki-Adi-Mundi told her in his crisp, distinct speech. "Please call again tomorrow morning and we shall inform you of our decision."

Sabé licked her lips uncertainly. She felt incredibly forward, trying to push her boundaries, but timidity had never been her defining characteristic. "Is there any other possible means of communicating to me, Masters? I should feel awkward, returning here too many times."

"You are attending the Correllian Gala, this evening, are you not?" Depa Billaba finally asked, very quietly. Sabé nodded in confirmation. "The Jedi usually send a representative. We will send whomever we decide upon to the Ball. They will contact you there."

"Thank you for your help, Masters," Sabé said gratefully, with a small bow. "May the Force be with you." She then made her exit with as much speed as possible, while still retaining some measure of decorum.

* * *

_Outside Rialdas, Naboo_

The morning after his arrival in Rial, Richard was awoken early by Banks and sent out to the stables before breakfast. It was already sweltering, though the sun had risen just an hour before.

Torak, the middle-aged man who met him there, didn't seem to notice the heat. When Richard entered the stable, the first thing he heard was Torak yelling at him from inside one of the tusk-cat stalls. "Milord, you can't sleep in anymore," he was saying. "There's work to be done."

"Sleep in?" Richard repeated. "It's only—"

"We start work here an hour before sunup," Torak said, standing and facing him from across the building. "Trust me, if the boss were here, you'd be getting a tongue-lashing to rival any of the Queen's speeches."

"You're not the manager?" Richard asked.

"Nah, I'm just the assistant," the older man replied. "The boss is in Rialdas picking up supplies and the like. Left me in charge."

"Ah." The Prince walked across the building to where Torak was closing up the tusk-cat stall. "And when does he return?"

To his surprise, Torak laughed. "He?" he repeated. "You'd be lucky if the manager was a man—a man might let you off for being late once in a while. Nah, the manager's a woman by the name of Yvenne Sorenst. But don't get me wrong, she knows exactly what she's doing. Bit of a firebrand, but that probably comes from working with the cats all her life."

"Oh." An image formed in Richard's mind of a middle-aged woman, harsh, curt, well-built from work on the ranch, and with short hair and a shorter fuse. He shook his head slightly to clear the image. It didn't matter what this Sorenst woman was like—he had to put up with her for the next few months. "So I was told to report to you for my assignments," he prompted.

"Right," said Torak. "We figured that you're probably not used to a whole lot of physical labor and that some of the more administrative tasks might be more useful to you as a learning experience, so we're going to have you assisting Yvenne for a while at least." Back came the image from before, and Richard groaned inwardly. But Torak continued: "Until she gets back from Rialdas, though, she wants you to stick around with Marrus Trepzin and get to know the layout of the place. She said that she'd rather not have to teach you that when she gets back."

Torak walked around him then. "We're going to have to do something with your clothes too."

"And what's wrong with my clothing?" Richard demanded.

"Nothing, except that it's completely impractical for work around here," the man replied. He fingered the slightly ruffled collar on Richard's shirt. "Is this one of those shirts with the big sleeves?"

Rolling his eyes, the Prince said: "Yes. . ."

"Then you'll have to keep that coat on. I don't care how hot it gets today, I don't want you getting your shirt caught in some of the machinery."

Richard decided to keep his mouth shut on that score. The man was right, but it was still irritating, not in the least because he hadn't thought of all this himself. "May I go back to the house for breakfast now?" he asked.

"Nope," said Torak, turning toward the exit. "Should have thought of that before you overslept."

Marrus Trepzin showed up then, and Torak left the stables for other work. Trepzin was much closer to Richard's age, and didn't seem very intimidated by him. Richard was glad for this. Hopefully this man would continue to be friendly to him, because he had a feeling that it would be lonely here otherwise.

But Marrus also distressed him just a little — he kept talking about this Sorenst woman, and Richard's mental image of her was getting worse and worse.

"I was out with her the other day," Trepzin was saying. "One of our tusk-cats was hurt about six miles from here, and she took some of us with her to bring the cat back." As they walked through the stable, the man reached into one of the stalls and patted the head of an absolutely huge feline. It came up to Richard's waist — and he was not a short man — while it was lying down. "Nala here," Trepzin continued, "wouldn't let anyone get near her, but the boss just walked up to her and told us to go off and get the transport. By the time we got back, she was lying on the ground in front of her, talking to her as calm as could be."

"Well then," Richard replied, not quite sure if there was anything else to be said.

"She's a tough woman," said Marrus. "I'd bet this year's salary that you'd never find anyone on the planet who can ride these cats as well as she can. She only uses a saddle because it makes the rest of us nervous when she doesn't."

Richard was at a loss for words for the first time in years. In Theed he would have thought immediately to disregard Trepzin's words as teasing, but here he wasn't so sure. Life seemed so different in this part of Naboo.

The two were reaching the broad door at the end of the building, but as soon as Trepzin stepped into the sunlight, he turned right around and walked back into the building. Confused, Richard said: "What's going on?"

"Lord Retisan's daughter," Trepzin replied. "I'd really rather not run into her."

Richard, on the other hand, was deathly curious. She hadn't been at dinner the previous night with the family, but having heard her described as a local beauty, he wanted to see her for himself. Fortunately, a tall young woman soon strode into the stable, and when she set her eyes on Richard, she smiled.

She was dressed in a rich blue riding habit, trimmed with white embroidery. A pert cap of the same color was set atop her dark hair, which was pulled back, but some curls pinned just under the cap bounced as she walked by him. In one gloved hand she held a crop, and in the other she held up her skirt. She was beautiful too, with her creamy skin aglow in the morning light. As beautiful as Richard's sisters, she was obviously refined enough to have grown up in the court at Theed. When she reached him, she curtseyed. "Good morning," she said.

Richard nodded to her and held out his hand. Immediately she placed hers in his, and he kissed it. "I am Richard Naberrie."

"Réka Retisan," she replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you at last, Your Highness."

"The pleasure is mine," the Prince replied, releasing her hand.

She gave him a dazzling smile. "I'm afraid I have to be off for my morning ride," she said. "Will you be dining with the family this evening?"

"I believe so."

"Then I look forward to seeing you there." She walked around him to a nearby stall and led out a tusk-cat which had obviously been saddled for her earlier. Richard watched her every move as she mounted the cat, side-saddle, of course, and rode out into the sunlight.

Trepzin came up behind him at some point and poked him in the back. "I wouldn't let those big eyes get to you, Highness," he said. "Beautiful women tend to be more trouble than they're worth."

But Richard was still watching Réka as she rode in the distance. "I can't see how she wouldn't be worth any trouble," he said softly.

Suddenly Marrus pushed a large box at him, and Richard was forced to look away in order to catch it. "Hey!" he cried.

Trepzin was already walking away. "Come on, sir," he said. "We've got work to do."

* * *

_Coruscant_

Even after eight years, Obi-Wan Kenobi still could not stand before the Jedi Council without feeling oddly out of place. It was a difficult feeling to describe, mostly having to do with the unique circumstances surrounding his ascension to knighthood. In the normal course of things, he should have had a formal ceremony in this very Council chamber, with Qui-Gon present as the most honored witness. But there had been no ceremony, just a few simple words from Master Yoda in a quiet Naboo throne room. Of course, on a practical level, Obi-Wan realized that the ceremony wasn't what made the knight, but never having had one, he still felt like a Padawan when he came here.

The presence of Lanelle Caine beside him did little to help matters. Obi-Wan generally considered himself to be a model Jedi– compliant and dutiful, striving to uphold the traditions and beliefs of the Jedi (though his errant Padawan sometimes made this tricky), but next to Lanelle Caine, Obi-Wan looked like a first-year temple acolyte who'd been caught stealing Master Yoda's favorite cookies. A good woman, Lanelle Caine, but hard and brittle from experience. She was absolutely unyielding in her adherence to the Jedi code. As such, she and Qui-Gon had never been exactly the best of friends, and Obi-Wan got the impression that she frowned upon _him_ as well, simply for having been Qui-Gon's apprentice. Or maybe it was because he was Anakin's master, which was just as likely. Knowing her, it was both.

"Senator Vána of Naboo has requested Jedi assistance on a mission to Jenispra," Master Windu began without preamble, once both Obi-Wan and Master Caine had paid their formal respects. "You have both been chosen to accompany her."

At the mention of Senator Vána, Obi-Wan almost gave a start. He was accustomed to hearing Sabé Naberrie's name in governmental circles, of course, but to find her the subject of conversation in _this_ setting was certainly the last thing he'd expected. Besides that, he hadn't heard anything about her petitioning for Jedi aide before he and Anakin had left for Chandrilla last week. They'd only just arrived back. He glanced at Master Caine and was relieved to see equal puzzlement in her face.

"I must assume then, Masters," she said, "that this mission is one of considerable urgency."

"Yes and no," said Ki-Adi-Mundi "There is no deadline, so to speak, but I think you would agree we should brook no delay in undertaking it. Senator Vána was unexpectedly the recipient of a lead on the glowquartz matter."

"In that case, Masters, I agree. When do we meet with the Senator? We should make arrangements as soon as possible for departure."

Obi-Wan uncrossed his arms and held up a hand. "Half a moment, Master Caine, please. I have a few questions, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Master Kenobi."

He peered at the Council. "I am a little more familiar with the ways of the Naboo than many Jedi, which is why, I presume, you've chosen me for this mission."

"One of the reasons, yes, Master Obi-Wan," Yoda nodded.

"As far as I am aware, Sab– _Senator_ Vána has never before concerned herself with the glowquartz problem. She's been almost entirely focused on upholding her predecessor's platform, which concentrates on trading issues." Since the war with the Federation, and no doubt as a result of Nute Gunray weaseling his way out of conviction, every Naboo politician had been fighting tooth and nail to diminish the Federation's influence. "Why then is she so suddenly interested?"

"Her source brought the lead to her attention because he was warned of a Naboo connection to glowquartz."

_Dex_, Obi-Wan immediately thought, and knew instinctively that his guess was correct. Dex somehow managed to keep all twenty of his fingers tapped into the currents of the underworld. He'd been a good friend and resource to Obi-Wan over the years. It had been Sabé, however, who was responsible for him meeting Dex in the first place. She was also a good friend. Dex usually tried to protect her, but he know how fiercely she loved and defended Naboo. Telling her about the glowquartz connection was something he would most certainly do.

"Thank you, Masters, I believe I might now understand why the Senator would wish to help."

"You're right, though, Master Kenobi," Master Caine said thoughtfully, "it would be easier if she just left things to us. We should ask her to remain behind."

_Good luck_, Obi-Wan thought to himself, before he remembered he didn't believe in luck. If Sabé wanted to come on the mission, talking her out of it wasn't in the picture.

"The Senator was quite adamant that she be allowed to accompany you," said Master Windu. "We might be able to convince her with an order, but as it was she who brought the matter to our attention, we shall return the courtesy and honor her wishes. She has agreed to accept Jedi leadership and authority, which will fall to you, Master Kenobi."

Obi-Wan nodded his head. "Yes, Masters. Forgive me, but might I inquire why Master Caine is not being given command?" He gave the woman a sidelong glance as he spoke, expecting to see her equally confused. To his surprise, however, she seemed quite serene.

"Taken a new padawan, Master Lanelle has," Yoda said at last.

Obi-Wan inhaled slowly as the pieces suddenly clicked into place. He had wondered why the Council was sending two Jedi Masters on this mission to begin with. But if Master Caine had taken on a new padawan, then this was to be that padawan's Observance mission. The Observance was an old tradition, highly honored not only for its significance to the Jedi culture, but it's practicality as well. Both master and padawan would accompany another Jedi– preferably another master and padawan, if possible– on a mission appointed by the Council. In this way, the padawan was able to benefit from field experience, and the master was able to give the padawan his or her full attention as a teacher. Otherwise, the concerns of the mission might demand the master's full attention, thereby leaving a green padawan to flounder on alone.

He also knew that he was the last person Lanelle Caine would have chosen to accompany for an Observance, and honestly, he couldn't say that he blamed her. Part of the idea was for the new padawan to learn good master-padawan relations by watching the mentor pair, but quite frankly, Anakin was not the ideal example for up-and-coming new Jedi. Obi-Wan gave an internal sigh. Well, like it or not, the Council had made its decision. He would just have to learn to deal with it.

"Senator Vána will be attending the Corellian Diktat's gala this evening," said Master Gallia. "As such, the Council is sending you, Master Kenobi, as the Jedi representative for the evening. It will make your meeting considerably unsuspicious."

Obi-Wan nodded. They were right. If he and Sabé spoke at the Gala, any onlooker would be hard pressed to attribute their meeting to anything other than coincidence. Besides that, his past connection with Naboo wasn't exactly a secret. If he struck up a conversation with an old acquaintance, it was hardly reason for any speculation.

Obi-Wan and Master Caine took their leave of the Council, and Obi-Wan immediately headed for the chambers he shared with Anakin to get a little rest before heading off to the Gala. He _had_ hoped for a few days' break to recuperate, but it seemed it was not to be this time. On the other hand, it would be good to see Sabé again.

* * *

**Replies:**

**Kyae**- I'm a little mix of both, I think. If I'm comfortable with the people I'm around, you can't get me to shut up, frankly. If I'm with strangers, though, I tend to be much more reserved.

**RivendellWriter**- How perceptive you are. Well, Ben can't _strictly_ escort her, but… as you can see, it won't turn out to be that much of a loss. ;-)

**Dragon Girl Revlis**- Glad you fixed your computer ailment. Drug issues aren't new to Star Wars at all, though. As a matter of fact, it was a shipment of glitterstim that Han dumped not long before A New Hope that caused him to get Jabba the Hutt on his tail in the first place.

* * *

Keep those reviews coming; we can never get enough!

Saché 


	4. All Dressed Up

**Chapter Four** – _All Dressed Up_

_Coruscant_

Saché was, by nature, not particularly suited for formal diplomatic functions, but her service to both the queen and the senator of Naboo had given her the experience necessary to combat her natural shyness. Of course, the fact that she was required to do very little at such gatherings helped make it easier. While Sabé was required to talk politics and groom contacts, the handmaidens only needed to worry about their mistress. Saché's visible duties at such gatherings generally consisted of fetching food and drinks for Sabé, and dancing occasional sets with young men who were interested in soliciting Sabé's company for more than just political reasons.

"I didn't take this job to find a husband," Sabé had said, when she'd realized that these men were going to prove a minor but consistent bother. "Besides," she'd added loftily, "I'm not sure I'm really interested in anyone but a Naboo husband."

"And you're also seeing Lord Daris, remember?" Saché had reminded her.

"Oh, right," Sabé added, causing Saché to laugh a little. Sometimes she thought Sabé really _did_ forget about Rory Daris at times. It was clear their relationship had never been very serious, despite its surprising longevity. She half suspected that Sabé purposefully not yet broken it off so that she could use Rory as an excuse should the need arise.

Saché also had other duties, duties that applied wherever she went with her mistress, be it the Corellian Gala or Senate session- duties that the greater public hardly suspected. The handmaidens were generally dismissed as glorified servants, but in reality they were valuable bodyguards, as well as extra eyes-and-ears that both Amidala and Senator Vána put to good use. It never ceased to amaze Saché what people would say in her presence or Dormé's in an unguarded moment.

Saché's friend Rabé Voss had been so good at this that her skills were legendary in the palace administrative circles. Sabé had initially requested Rabé as one of her senatorial handmaidens, but Amidala was unwilling to part with Rabé, who was still doing valuable liaison work with the Gungans from her home in the moor districts. So the queen had given her Saché instead. She wasn't quite as talented as Rabé in this _particular_ arena, but she too had a very good eye for detail.

The afternoon had waned very quickly, and before long the evening was upon them. The girls began preparation for the Gala, while Sabé relayed her encounter with the Jedi Council.

"Keep your eyes open for the Jedi representative," she said. "I am anxious to speak with him-"

"Or her," Dormé injected, brushing a comb through Sabé's long, dark hair.

Sabé sighed. "Or her," she amended. "At any rate, I should like to speak with this person early on in the evening, before the crowds begin to thin."

Saché, taking Sabé's gown from its hanger in the closet, caught of glimpse of herself in the mirror, and paused to consider what she saw there. She and Dormé usually dressed identically, and tonight they had chosen a long, straight, strapless gown in a soft off-white that shimmered softly with tiny beads shot throughout its length.

It was Dormé who usually chose their attire, but tonight Saché had requested this particular gown. She hoped Dormé would not question her about her initiative, for the truth was that it was her favorite, and if by some chance she danced with Jon tonight, she wanted to feel beautiful.

Sabé's gown was cut along similar lines, except the skirt was a little fuller, and it was bright red, a color that suited the senator exceptionally well. All three girls were also wearing their hair up in elegant coifs, with large, sweet-smelling flowers liberally woven in. The flowers had been Saché's idea as well.

As Sabé dressed, she and Dormé continued to discuss the upcoming evening, but Saché only listened with half an ear. As with dinner the previous night, she found herself distracted. As Sabé's escort, Jon would be coming to pick them up any moment. Even though she knew there was nothing between Sabé and Jon, and never had been, Saché could not help but feel a little envious of her friend for this honor.

She jumped a little when the door chime sounded, but thankfully, neither of her companions seemed to notice.

"Saché, would you let him in, please?" Sabé asked from the vanity, where Dormé was still arranging red _keturas_ in her hair.

"Yes, m'lady." Saché walked out into the foyer, where she took a deep but quiet breath, and straightened her dress a little. Then she opened the door, to find Jon on the other side, along with Rizzo, who was on door duty, and waiting to follow them to the Gala.

"Saché," greeted Jon warmly, smiling. "Well, don't you look lovely tonight?"

"Thank you, Jon," she said, doing her best to smile back.

He looked fantastic. Of course, Saché always thought he looked nice, but there was something about formal wear that most women couldn't resist. His pants were dark, and his tunic dark royal blue, cut in clean lines, and trimmed with brushings of grey, and bronze buttons. He also wore a knee-length black cape and white gloves.

Jon must have noticed her scrutiny, for his smile grew broader. "What?" he asked, and glanced down at his outfit carefully. "Is the cape crooked?" He looked back up at her, eyes twinkling.

Saché blushed. "You're never going to let me forget about that, are you?" She stepped aside and let him into the room.

"Probably not," he agreed, looking around.

"Forget about what?" Rizzo whispered from the outside of the doorway. He looked at her with a gaze that clearly said he sensed a teasing point, and he wanted in on the joke.

"Get back to work, we're almost ready," Saché scolded him. "If you can catch Jon alone tonight, I'm sure he'd be most happy to tell you the story." She closed the door in his face. "Do you want something to drink?" She asked Jon.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

Saché walked over to the end table, where her own long white gloves were sitting. "Sabé made it to the Council this afternoon, though she had a hard time of it."

"Yes?" he asked. "And how did it go?"

"Very well, in the end," she said, picking up the gloves and sliding them onto her arms. She looked up at him. "They agreed to help."

Jon exhaled loudly. "That's a relief," he said.

"Yes, it is," Saché agreed.

"Jon, how can you possibly have the gall to arrive early?" came Sabé's voice from the foyer doorway. Her hands were on her hips, but she was smiling.

"Well, because I know how women like to make a man wait around, even if they're already ready, so I figured if I came early, I'd do my required waiting, and we could possibly leave on time."

"Well, I'm expecting an important guest tonight, else I might make you wait even longer for that comment," Sabé teased, walking into the middle of the room. Saché fetched the senator's cloak from the coat rack, and helped her into it. "As you can see," Sabé continued when her cloak was on, "your plan was successful, and I _am_ ready."

Saché and Dormé put their own cloaks on, and took their places behind their mistress as Jon offered Sabé his arm. "Shall we go then?" he asked. "Face the gundarks?"

It was clear he had made a joke, but all three girls blinked at him in confusion. "What's a gundark?" Sabé finally asked.

* * *

Halfway through the evening, Sabé began to wonder if perhaps agreeing to meet with the Jedi representative here had been such a good idea. After two and a half hours, she had yet to see any sign of a Jedi, and she was starting to get annoyed. Then again, she mused with a smile, perhaps this was the Council's means of exacting subtle revenge. Well, if so, she was determined to bear it gracefully. She'd gotten what she wanted, after all.

Jon had been an admirable escort throughout the course of the evening. She always enjoyed dancing with him, for his skills on the floor were impeccable, and together they made a graceful pair. Now, however, he had abandoned his charge in favor of Saché, whom he'd whisked from duty almost under Sabé's nose. She was glad he had done so. While Saché had no objections to a dance or two, she usually was so consumed with fulfilling her duties to Sabé that she never allowed herself the luxury of a few moments' enjoyment.

From the sidelines, where she and Dormé were recuperating from a run-in with the Kuatti Senator—a very strange woman who kept assuming Sabé would be interested in something called a _telbun_—Sabé eyed the pair on the floor. Saché had been extremely shy around Jon for a long time, but the years had erased all traces of shyness. Now they conversed together like very old friends, Saché occasionally laughing, Jon obviously talking up a storm as he was wont to do any given day of his life. At least he wasn't flirting with her. Sabé had done her job well, in that respect.

"I think he likes her," said Dormé quietly at Sabé's side. She too had been watching.

Sabé turned to her with surprise. "Jon?"

"Yes."

Sabé smiled and shook her head. "You don't know Jon. He's fun, but he's practically next door to a womanizer. A shameless flirt. I know you and he got along famously last night."

It was Dormé's turn to smile. "I don't know. Call it a feeling. He's so… careful with her, I guess."

"Oh, well, that's just because Eirtaé and I told him to behave."

"That may be so, Sabé, but I'm telling you, I think he likes her. My brother was the same way with his wife before they married."

Sabé glanced doubtfully back at Jon and Saché. They seemed as friendly as ever they did, and she shook her head determinedly. "And I still think you're wrong," she repeated.

Dormé shrugged and dropped the matter. "I've got to go the refresher," she said. "Will you be all right for a few minutes?"

Sabé rolled her eyes. "Yes," she insisted. "Goodness, Dormé, I'm not built of glass you know." Sometimes she suspected that over-protectiveness was a prerequisite for every handmaiden, and that Sabé had never been allowed privy to the secret. "I'm going to get some fresh air for a minute, so I might be outside when you come back."

"Okay, just tell Rizzo where you're going."

"Yes, mother."

When Dormé had gone, Sabé retrieved her wrap and dutifully delivered her commission to the Captain. Then she stepped outside into the relieving cool night air of Coruscant. She sighed, wishing the Jedi representative would hurry up and arrive. She'd done all the polite social posturing and political chitchatting that etiquette demanded, and was eager to be on her way home. There was a journey to prepare for, after all.

She leaned against the balcony railing, staring down into the mottled rivers of lights below her. The breezes pulled at loose wisps of hair around her face. She might have felt peaceful, had she not been mulling over the glowquartz problem. It still grieved her to think of it.

The sound of a strong, quiet voice coming from behind her took her by surprise. "Good evening, Princess Sabé."

Sabé paused, and frowned. There was something familiar about the voice, but she could not determine why. More than that, however, the voice was male, and the only men here who knew her by that name were Jon, Typho, and Rizzo, but the voice belonged to none of them. She turned in utter confusion, to find standing there the last person in the galaxy she had expected to see. "Ben?" she whispered, disbelievingly.

Indeed it was him. Obi-Wan Kenobi, hero of the Battle of Naboo. He seemed older, his hair longer, his blue-green eyes full of new wisdom. He was dressed simply, in pants and tunic that marked him undeniably as a Jedi, yet of a finer make than she'd before seen a Jedi wear. He wore no robe, but his lightsaber hung confidently at his side. He smiled warmly. "It is good to see you again, Princess."

Recovering from her initial shock, Sabé's face broke into a happy grin. She squealed gleefully and threw her arms around his neck, engulfing him in a tight and rather graceless embrace.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi had been a Jedi all his life, fully supporting the principles they stood for, and doing his best to live up to them. But for all that, there were still moments in his life when he was painfully reminded that Jedi he may be, but he was also a man. Such was the case when one of the most beautiful women in the galaxy threw herself into his arms in a most alarming and unexpected fashion.

_Perhaps it wasn't wise to take her by surprise like that._

He had meant to be here much earlier, but had overslept. Then he'd had trouble finding his dress uniform, and _then_ he'd had to spend a good fifteen minutes telling Anakin that _no_ he could not accompany him to the Gala. Anakin had been very keen to come when he had found out just who it was Obi-Wan would be meeting.

When he'd finally arrived at the Gala, he'd been afraid Sabé would already have departed, but with a little concentration he discovered he still remembered the impression she made upon the Force, and it hadn't been difficult to track her down. He'd followed her outside, where she stood at the balcony, gazing down into the city.

It was strange, the feelings that stirred within him when he saw her. In eight years he hadn't seen her, yet through their letters, they'd become very close friends. So he looked upon a face that seemed so foreign yet so familiar. Over the years, it had been clear through her writing that Sabé was growing and maturing, but in his minds' eye he'd always held a fourteen-year-old face, even after seeing her image many times in Galactic holo-broadcasts. Standing there at the railing, clad in striking red, a flutter of appreciation had touched him. Another reason her act of _exuberance_ was decidedly unhealthy for him.

Obi-Wan awkwardly returned the embrace, patting the back of her shoulder two or three times before he extracted himself. If she noticed his hesitance, she gave no sign.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, eyes shining.

"Come now, Senator," he laughed, "I was led to believe you were expecting me."

"No I, wasn't…" she began, then her eyes widened. "The mission," she said breathlessly. "_You're_ the one going to help us?"

"That's right."

"But that's wonderful! I can't believe—I mean, the possibility had never even come into my head."

"I'm glad you are pleased, though it will be a challenging mission."

Sabé looked around. "Is Anakin here? How is he? He must be very big by now."

"I'm afraid he surpassed me long ago, physically speaking," Obi-Wan commented. "No, he's not here, but you'll doubtless see him sometime soon. He is eager to see you again."

She laughed. "I should like that, though I find it hard to believe. He barely spoke three words to me when you were both on Naboo. All his attention was for Padmé, or for becoming a Jedi."

Obi-Wan coughed politely into his hand. "Sometimes I suspect those topics are _still_ the only focus of his attention. But please, Senator. We're not here to discuss Anakin. I have managed to escape him for one evening," he added wryly, "let's not spoil the pleasure, shall we?"

Sabé laughed again. "Still clinging to mentor frustration, are we?" she said, taking his arm. Together they began heading back indoors. "You always pretend to be so annoyed at everything he does, and yet I know how much you love him."

Obi-Wan was quiet a moment, pondering her casual use of the word love. "Well," he finally said, adding a note of mock reluctance to his voice, "I suppose I am rather fond of him." Then he added, eyes twinkling as they passed through the doors back into the ballroom, "But who says my frustration is pretense?"

Another smile. "Very well. No talking about Anakin. How have you been, Ben?"

"Busy. Mission after mission, with barely a moment's rest. These are dark times. The dissension that is growing among the Senate has a very strong effect upon the Jedi, I'm afraid."

"Yes, that is one thing I shall be happy to escape for a while, even if it is for a serious and dangerous mission."

"I don't suppose there's any way to talk you out of coming, is there?" he asked, almost blandly. Sabé favored him with a very matter-of-fact stare and he laughed. "I didn't think so. Thought I may as well give it a try, though."

"I wouldn't call that very much of a try, Ben," she teased.

"Well. A formality, then," he shrugged, smiling. He was surprised to find that he was quite looking forward to her company for the next few weeks.

"Excuse me, Senator," said a new voice. Just inside the ballroom, both Obi-Wan and Sabé turned to see a tall young man with a youthful, eager face standing beside them. His eyes flitted to Sabé nervously every once in awhile, and he licked his lips even more nervously a couple times before finally asking, "Would you do me the honor of a dance, Senator?"

Obi-Wan had to admire the man's nerve. Working up the courage to ask such a thing of the beautiful Senator Vána must have been doubly hard when she had a Jedi on her arm. As for Sabé, Obi-Wan could sense her resigned disappointment, and could almost see her thoughts casting about desperately for an excuse to turn her admirer down without being rude. Surprising himself, Obi-Wan took a step nearer and smoothly intervened. "I'm terribly sorry, young man, I'm afraid I'd already claimed this one."

Sabé blinked once in surprise, but quickly covered it, and gave the young man a sympathetic nod. "I'm afraid it is true," she added. "I'm terribly sorry."

"Not at all, Senator," the young man said, stepping back with a small bow before he walked away, looking a little glum.

"Well," said Sabé quietly, watching him, "I feel like the 's biggest meanie," she said sadly.

"Ah, but that's the beauty of it, don't you see?" Obi-Wan commented. She looked up at him curiously, and he grinned. "In this case, it is I who am the villain, not you."

She smiled back, then said, "I didn't know you could dance."

He took her hand and led her to the floor. "I don't know if I can, either," he said, laughing. "I guess we're about to find out. Though I can't imagine it is all that different than sparring."

She looked skeptical. "Maybe not with regard to technical requirements or skill," she said, "but I rather think the context is different."

"No?" he asked. "Wouldn't you say that the political maneuvering that goes on at a function such as this is every bit as vicious?"

Sabé smiled knowingly as they reached the other couples. "Perhaps you're right, in most cases," she agreed. As she spoke, she guided his hands to the correct positions, one around her waist. Then she looked up at his face, eyes sparkling with mirth. "But I do hope you make an exception for dancing with an old friend. Unless you count me to be one of these vicious schemers you speak of?"

"Of course not," he said, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to offend you."

Sabé regarded him with amusement. "You really don't like politicians, do you?" she asked teasingly as she began guiding him into the steps of the dance.

"I don't like politics," he said firmly. "Or rather, I don't like what it has become."

She looked thoughtful. "Neither do I," she finally said. "I'm glad this term is almost over. I'll be glad to go home for a while."

"You've done admirably well, Sabé, for taking on this position in such short notice."

Sabé looked pleased at his compliment. "You really think so? It has been a trying time."

"I really think so," he confirmed.

"You know you do this very well," she said.

"I'm sorry?" he asked, confused.

She laughed. "Sorry, that was random. I meant the dance. For someone with no experience, you do it very well."

"Oh," Obi-Wan replied, blinking. He supposed it did seem rather easy. In truth, he'd been doing his best to _not_ think about the fact that they were dancing, or that Sabé felt very warm in his arms, or that whatever flowers she had in her hair smelled quite nice.

_What possessed me to suggest this, again?_ he wondered.

"I saw Dex yesterday," she said, and he was relieved she had changed the subject. "He was asking about you. I don't know why he asked _me_," she laughed. "He sees you more than I do."

"And how is he?"

"As exasperating as ever," she said with a smile. Then she seemed suddenly sober. "It was him who told me about the glowquartz, Ben."

"I thought maybe it was him," Ben said, nodding. "Though you did not tell the Council as much."

"No, I didn't. I believe you are the only Jedi he ever speaks with." Sabé frowned. "Ben, Dex says I'm too sheltered. That I never could have found out about the glowquartz on my own. Do you think so?"

"By no means, Princess. You seem to have a propensity to stumble into trouble no matter what you do."

Sabé gave a sigh. "Ben, we're supposed to be having an important mission meeting, here! No teasing allowed."

He laughed. "Well, I do rather think you walked into that one."

"Seriously, though. Do you agree?"

He considered a moment before answering. "In some respects, perhaps," he finally said. "But I hardly think it's anything to regret. What strengths you have more than compensate, and are all-too often lacking in other dignitaries."

"Such a careful answer, Ambassador Jedi Kenobi. Perhaps you would have done well in politics, despite all your protests."

"And perhaps I should have been a great dancer, according to you, but you don't see me doing that, either."

"This is true. So, Master Jedi, when might we depart for Jenispra?"

"As soon as you are able, Princess. You'll probably need, what, three days or so to pack?"

It took her a moment to realize he was teasing her again. He watched with pleasure the indignation that lit up in her eyes. Then she glared. "Very funny. I can be ready for take off the day after tomorrow."

"Very well. I'll make arrangements for transportation tomorrow. Oh, and before I forget, I should tell you that there are two other Jedi coming along on this mission."

Sabé looked puzzled. "So many? Why?"

He explained to her about the tradition of Observation. "I have yet to meet Master Caine's new padawan," he said.

"So…" she said hesitantly, "we'll have a kid along with us?"

"Yes, a young girl. I can't remember her name, just now."

"Interesting. Well, I assume if the Jedi are sending her, she'll be able to fend for herself, though it seems most ill-advised."

"Sabé, given your background, I hardly think you're in a position to find the mix of youth and adventure unheard of."

"Well," she said, laughing, "You do have a point there." As she spoke, the music slowed to a stop and the dance was over. Obi-Wan pulled away as quickly as politeness would allow. "And now," said Sabé, looking around, "I'm going to gather up my little entourage and get out of here, before you have to rescue me from any more ambitious politicians' sons. Of course, Jon was _supposed_ to do it, but I suppose he can't be expected to hang on my elbow all night."

"You're too kind, my lady."

"Oh, come now, Obi-Wan," she said, smiling. He realized it was the first time she'd called him by his proper name. "Was it really so bad?"

He was spared the need to answer by the arrival of three people beside them—two ladies dressed similarly to Sabé, and a young man in clean-pressed formals. "Obi-Wan, I don't know if you remember Saché Drianna? She served my sister on Naboo during the blockade, although she did not accompany us to Coruscant."

Obi-Wan regarded the pretty young girl with a smile, and gave her a small bow. "I'm ashamed to say I do not recall such a pleasure." He picked up her hand and kissed it. "My apologies. It is very nice to meet you again."

She blushed prettily. "No apologies necessary, Master Jedi," she said. "Sabé doesn't have a very good memory, either, or she would know that we were never properly introduced on Naboo to begin with."

"Ah, well, it's all Sabé's fault, then."

Sabé rolled her eyes. "And this is Dormé," she continued. "Dormé, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi."

Dormé returned his handshake firmly. "Everyone on Naboo is in your debt, Master Kenobi. I doubt there's a schoolchild there anymore who doesn't know your face."

"And this is Jon Bakuro, an old friend of the family."

"And head of Bakurcom, no doubt," Obi-Wan said, nodding at the man as he shook his hand also. "You seem to have a good head for business, sir."

"In some respects, thank you. I am still learning."

"Master Kenobi is to aide us on the mission to Jenispra," Sabé said brightly. "What a fortunate coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

"Not entirely coincidence, actually," Obi-Wan said. "It was thought that perhaps my former experience with the Naboo would be a boon in this case."

"Well, in any case, I'm very glad about it," Sabé said. She smiled at him.

"Sabé, are you ready to leave anytime soon?" Jon asked. "Some of us need our beauty sleep." At his words, the three girls burst out laughing, causing Obi-Wan to offer a polite but bemused smile. Jon looked at Obi-Wan and shook his head. "Women," he said sadly.

"Yes, Jon, we can leave now," Sabé managed, when she subsided her giggles. "I think I've been awake far too long."

"I shall com you with the departure details, Senator, as soon as I have determined them," Obi-Wan said, giving the party a final bow. "Until then," he greeted.

"I look forward to it. Goodnight, Obi-Wan."

He watched her leave with her friends, regretful that their reunion had been so short-lived. He wished he could head out as well, but unfortunately, as Jedi representative, he had other duties to fulfill at this function. Well, the sooner he started, the sooner he'd be finished. He set about conquering the distasteful tasks, but found himself distracted the rest of the night. For some reason, he kept smelling those flowers.

* * *

**Replies:**

**Dragon Girl Revlis**- Wow, a newbie SW fan, huh? Ah, I remember those days… Most of my interests have since moved on, I'm sad to say (sad in a nostalgic way), but SW always holds a special place.

**Feather-of-Maat**- Welcome! As always, your compliments are lovely and wonderful, and let me tell you… hehehe, at the time, _writing_ Dance With the Stars was infinitely superior to homework, as well. LOL And yes. Mush. Mush… This fic is an unapologetic pile of sappy romance, when all is said and done. LOL

**Kyae**- I hope Sabé and Obi-Wan's reunion was to your satisfaction. I've always been rather fond of it. :-D

**RivendellWriter**- Dancing… yes. Although it was tough to figure out how to get Obi-Wan to do it. HaHa. ;-)

* * *

**A/N:** - This chapter dedicated to **padawan lunetta**, whose only stipulation for this story was that it have Sabé and Obi-Wan dancing. Such difficult parameters…. LOL

I surely do love those reviews!

Saché 


	5. Introductions

ahem This chapter is the first appearance of my favorite character in this story, although said character technically remains unnamed. LOL

* * *

**Chapter Five**- _Introductions_

_Theed, Naboo_

Claria Naberrie stepped into the sun, heading toward the great staircase leading down into Old Market Square and the memorial to Thanos Berkin. The monolith and the steps around it were usually overrun by students who wished to debate in the memorial's shadow. This day was no different than other days, and Claria walked down the white stone steps to the monument to hear what the issue of the day was.

It was not surprising that the topic of the day was outlawing economic sanctions within the Republic. Talk of such a debate had been all over the HoloNet, and was likely to continue. Sabé had written of it from Coruscant, saying that she supported the measure, and that this kind of interaction among planets was likely to only breed hostility rather than peaceful resolutions to conflicts. Claria was inclined to agree with her sister, thinking that mediation by neutral parties was probably more effective than a game of economic arm wrestling. However, she could also see that mediation and sanctions could both backfire and just buy more time for both sides to arm for conflict.

But one of the students in particular stood out among the others. He was animated, vehement - and as Claria could hardly help noticing, quite handsome. As she approached the group slowly, she decided that he wasn't really classically handsome - not like some of the men attempting to court Padmé - but he was just so full of energy and life that he couldn't help being attractive in some way. Judging from the large crowd of young women hanging on his every word, Claria could see that she was not alone in that opinion.

Unfortunately, he was debating in favor of the economic sanctions. Claria barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

"And what then?" he was asking. "When your mediation fails, where will you be? You will be back where you started, facing a war that could have been avoided."

That seemed to quell the opposing view, and a silence descended, along with a rather smug look on the young man's face. In the quiet that followed, Claria stood in the back of the group and said, "Yet your logic can be turned against you. When your sanctions fail, you will still be facing a war that could have been avoided, and with a willfully weakened economy."

At her voice, most of the group turned and immediately backed up to make way for her. Several attempted to bow, but she raised her hand to indicate that it was unnecessary. The man who had been speaking nodded to her and said, "But what did mediation do for Naboo seven years ago?"

Claria raised a brow. "And what economic sanctions could the small, insignificant planet of Naboo impose on the Trade Federation? Economic sanctions can only work if the aggressor is somehow dependent upon the planet imposing the sanction. The last time I looked, the Trade Federation has never been so dependent upon Naboo that its children would starve because of a sanction."

"And how many times does that happen?" he asked.

"If it happens once, it has happened too many times," she said, softly.

A great bell tolled from the university commons, and the crowd began to scatter, heading to classes. A small smile formed on the young man's face as he took a step nearer to Claria and extended his hand. "This your first time at the debates?" he asked. The tone in his voice now suggested that he had no idea who she was. It was a new experience, and she decided to take full advantage of it.

She smiled and shook his hand, but did not answer his question. "You've tackled a difficult question today," she said. "I've yet to find an argument that satisfies me on the subject."

"Money rules the galaxy," he replied. "I've yet to find an argument that can't be resolved with it somehow."

She withdrew her hand from his and nodded to him, a little irritated. "On Naboo, we tend to value oratory over wealth. I take it you're not native to this planet?"

He nodded. "That would be correct."

"Ah." Claria looked around, seeing people staring at her and this stranger. "A pleasure to debate you," she added. "I'd love to talk, but I have places to be."

"Nice talking with you," he said. Then he abruptly turned up the stairs and left.

For a long time, Claria just stood there and stared after him. She'd never been treated that way, even by an off-worlder, and it was something of a shock. Still, she didn't put much stock in the encounter as she walked down the steps to the street. The likelihood of ever seeing that man again was so low that he was almost forgotten by the time she arrived back at the palace.

* * *

_Coruscant_

Sabé had always felt there was some unidentifiable _something_ that all spacedocks had in common, whether it was the high, elevated landing platforms of Coruscant, or the enclosed, sterile environment of a docking port on a refueling station, or the open, expansive stretches of duracrete on the outskirts of Theed. Perhaps it was the similar sense of hustle and bustle that pervaded each and every one of them—the never-ceasing impression of activity.

She was gazing speculatively at the ship which Ben had procured for their journey. "Are you sure we're at the right place?" she asked skeptically.

Dormé, standing to one side of Sabé, craned her neck around to read the identification numbers on the platform's entrance. "Yup," she replied. "Escelion sector, Docking Bay 1138." She turned back to look at the ship again.

"It's kind of shabby," Sabé said, wrinkling her nose. "I don't understand why we just can't take the _Maloine_."

From her other side, Dooji gave one of his hearty Gungan chuckles. "Yousa been ridin' dat shinin' _makkabong_ too much, Sabé," he said. He waved a webbed hand appreciatively at the ship. "Dessa ship steady and strong, mesa tinks. If wesa take da _Maoline_, deysa gonna know smack off dat yousa una big'un."

"He's right, Sabé," Dormé added. "You're going to have to travel incognito, and you know it, so just stop whining."

Sabé sighed, knowing it was foolish to argue. She glanced down at her plain gray jumpsuit, accented only by a wide, dark green belt that hugged her hips snugly. Another attempt at incognito. Saché and Dormé had helped her pick out a small collection of 'plain' clothes over the course of their preparations the day before. "Yes," she agreed reluctantly. It was only wise, she knew, but that didn't make the outfit any less boring.

"The ship is a fine size, though," Dormé added. "I'm sure Master Kenobi had his reasons for securing it."

"Indeed he did," said a new voice, and they all jumped a little.

"Ben!" Sabé, greeted warmly, her grin threatening to overtake her face upon seeing her friend again. Her eyes darted to the tall young man at his side, "And—" she faltered, goggling a little, "oh my goodness, Anakin!"

Obi-Wan had been correct when he said that Anakin had surpassed him physically. He was a good head taller than his Master, and almost beautifully good-looking. "Well, by the three moons, Anakin, if you aren't as handsome as Theed itself!" Sabé said, laughing.

Something akin to pleasure crossed the young Padawan's face before he looked warily at his master. Obi-Wan was frowning a little, and Anakin quickly schooled his features in a serious expression, coughing slightly. "Thank you, Senator," he said with a small bow. "It is good to see you again."

"I'm glad to see you're not so shy as you once were," Sabé replied.

"I've learned much," he said simply. Then he added, hesitantly, "Senator, is _all_ your family still in Naboo?"

Sabé was amused at his attempt to be subtle. "All but Padmé," she said slyly, noting with satisfaction the gleam in his eye upon hearing her sister's name. "She has recently left on offworld goodwill tour to round off her second term. My brother will be assuming the throne in a few months' time. He's just recently won the elections there."

Anakin nodded. "I remember him well. Please extend my congratulations."

"Thank you, Anakin, I shall certainly do so." She introduced Anakin to Dormé, then Dooji to both of the Jedi.

"There are some small but well-equipped laboratory facilities aboard our vessel, Master Gungan," Obi-Wan told Dooji, nodding at the ship. "I hope we shall be successful enough on our mission that you are able to put them to good use. I understand from the Senator that you are an accomplished biologist."

"Mesa enjoy many tings," Dooji said congenially. "Da growin' tings, da people tings. Mesa glad to be helpin' Naboo on dis mission."

"It is a great thing," said Dormé appreciatively, smiling at Dooji, "how much progress has been made between the Gungans and the Naboo. And so much is thanks to Dooji. You'll never meet a soul with more patience or kindness, Master Kenobi."

"So I've heard," Ben replied, casting a sideways knowledgeable glance at Sabé. She'd written much about Dooji in her letters, both from her time served in Otoh Gunga, and her experiences with him as her advisor.

"Yes," Sabé chimed in, "we owe him so much, my family especially." It had been Dooji who had saved the lives of Richard, Claria, Taren, and many other Theed children when they'd fled the city during the invasion.

Just then, Sabé noticed another group of people heading towards them. Saché and Rizzo, accompanied by two more Jedi Sabé did not recognize. Saché waved warmly when Sabé spied them, and the rest of Sabé's group turned to see what she was looking at.

"Ah," said Ben in a very formal manner. "Senator Vána, may I present Jedi Master Lanelle Caine, and her padawan, Helaine Trillium," he said they arrived.

Sabé froze, her heart nearly stopping inside her chest. Her gaze had passed quickly over the older woman, who seemed a little distant and imposing, to rest on the young girl at her side, holding a very large suitcase. The words _Helaine Trillium_ were echoing in her head loudly, matching the thudding shock she felt. _Danae's daughter_ she realized, without the slightest trace of doubt. Had the surname not been the same, the child's face would surely have betrayed the information, for she was an uncanny image of her mother, right down to the large violet-blue eyes.

Of course, Sabé had always known that the lost member of the Trillium family somewhere wandered the corridors of the Jedi Temple, but just as she'd never dreamed Obi-Wan Kenobi would be chosen to help her on her offworld mission, so she'd never imagined she'd ever actually _meet_ Helaine.

Sabé glanced quickly at Saché, meeting her eyes, and the other girl nodded knowingly, her mouth set in a tight line. Saché was a great friend of the Trillium family. She knew as well as Sabé the grief that the family had suffered, being almost _forced_ to yield their daughter to the Jedi, and both young ladies highly disapproved the situation.

For her part, Lanelle Caine seemed to have taken note of Sabé's shock. "Perhaps you think my Padawan a little too young for such a venture, Senator?" she asked, raising her eyebrows almost condescendingly. "I can assure you she's capable of holding her own. And it is not our intention that she see too much action on this voyage."

Sabé took an almost immediate dislike to Lanelle Caine on these words. She got the impression that the older Jedi considered Helaine a thousand times better equipped for 'action' than Sabé herself. Still, she had provided Sabé with a convenient excuse to explain away her lapse of decorum in staring so blatantly at the young girl. "Of course, Master Caine," she said, nodding. She glanced at Obi-Wan, "I had been warned that Padawan Trillium was quite young," she added. "I supposed I just wasn't aware of how young. But I am not one to question the traditions of the Jedi." She bowed her head again, hoping her smooth tone would alleviate the woman's cold demeanor.

"We've got to get going, Sabé," Saché said, craning her neck to read Rizzo's wrist-crono. "Jon is expecting us at his office in ten minutes. We're going to be late."

"Well, in that case, certainly don't let me hold you up," Sabé said, rolling her eyes. Saché only smiled apologetically.

Sabé hugged both of her handmaidens warmly, and then Rizzo as well, ignoring his half-hearted protests. "Take care of these unruly girls," she commissioned him, winking sidelong at Dormé, who shook her head, smiling. "They're to be home by 0900 hours every night, and no parties."

"Blast," Rizzo muttered under his breath, feigning guilty disappointment. Sabé laughed.

"Be safe, Sabé," Saché said earnestly, her eyes full of concern, and Dormé nodded her agreement.

"I'll do my best," Sabé promised them. "And pray that we get to the root of this problem quickly."

Sabé watched her friends leave until they were out of sight, feeling a little sad. When she at last turned back around, she was surprised to find that Dooji was nowhere to be seen. "He's already boarded," Ben informed her, noting her expression from where he stood on the gangplank.

"Ah, well I guess I ought to follow suit," Sabé said cheerfully, picking up the first of her four very full bags. She winced slightly at the weight of it. Perhaps she shouldn't have snuck those Xendaran gems in past Saché's watchful eye, not to mention the heavy gold-link gown that matched them. But who could really say whether this mission might call for dressing up or not?

Ben's sudden, chuckling laughter did _not_ help. "Anakin, help Senator Vána with her bags." Sabé glared at him.

Anakin waved a hand, and with a cry of surprise, Sabé watched as all four of her bags lifted in the air and bumped and brushed past her, right up the gangplank into the ship.

Ben glared crossly at Anakin. "I meant _carry_ them," he scolded, and Sabé put a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling. Ben had told her many stories of Anakin's quirks, but to see it first-hand was strangely fun.

"Sorry, Master," replied Anakin, though he didn't exactly sound it. "You're just always telling me to work on control of the Force."

"It isn't your _telekinesis_ that needs work, Padawan," Ben said matter-of-factly. There was an awkward moment between the two men, before Ben broke their locked gazes, and cast his eyes upon Helaine, instead, who was coming up from behind Sabé, her very large suitcase still clutched in her hand. With a smile, Ben reached over and plucked it from her hand, then made a fantastic show of pretending it was too heavy for him to hold. "What _have_ you got in here, Helaine?"

The girl looked sweetly sheepish, and there was a sort of raw pain in Sabé's stomach. She knew that expression. It was the same one Danae made whenever her work was praised. "Just clothes and shoes and survival stuff, Master Kenobi." She lifted her head. "Master Yoda said a Jedi should be prepared for anything on a mission."

Obi-Wan nodded as Master Caine suddenly descended from the ship behind him. "Certainly," he agreed. "This is your first mission, I understand?" he asked kindly, casting a sidelong glance at her Master. "Are you excited?" he added, after she'd nodded her confirmation.

Helaine's nod was more enthusiastic this time. "Very!" she replied, her pretty eyes bright.

"Padawan!" said Master Caine sharply, and gave Ben a very meaningful, none-too-kind glance.

Helaine looked embarrassed. She bowed slightly to Ben. "I mean, _no_, Master Kenobi," she stuttered. Sabé felt like an intruder to the scene, and very alien. She frowned at Lanelle Caine, her dislike becoming even more deeply ingrained. _Who stuffed a prickle-husk up your bum, woman?_ she thought irritably.

Helaine and her master continued on into the ship, and Ben turned once more to Anakin. "I believe we're ready for takeoff, Anakin."

"Yes, Master," Anakin said with a well-practiced bow. Then he too headed inside, leaving only Sabé and Ben remaining on the gangplank to a very awkward silence.

"It is customary," he finally said, very hesitantly, "to dampen the enthusiasm of the young ones, sometimes." He sounded almost apologetic.

"I understand," Sabé said in a diplomatic voice, though truthfully she did not. Did he mean they didn't allow children to be children?

"Well, then," Ben said, relieved. He held up a hand, indicating the corridor of the cruiser behind him. "Shall we board? I'll show you around."

"Where will my quarters be?" Sabé asked curiously as she ascended the ramp.

Ben shook his head. "Wherever Anakin deposited your bags, I suppose," he said mournfully. Then he looked at her, with a playful twinkle in his eye that was becoming more and more familiar. "Let's just hope it was one of the cabins, shall we?"

Sabé laughed.

* * *

_Outside Rialdas, Naboo_

Yvenne had arrived back late from Rialdas. The trading had gone longer than expected, but Yvenne was glad for the results. The new stock she'd acquired would hopefully strengthen some of the blood maladies the cats had been suffering over the past half decade.

She'd been so utterly exhausted when she finally got back that she hadn't bothered doing anything except skim through a summary report Torak had written up for her of everything that had happened when she'd been gone. Then it was off to bed. She allowed herself only an extra hour and a half to sleep in the next morning—a practicality as much as it was an indulgence—and grabbed a quick nutrient bar on her way out the door to face the workday.

The peace of the morning only lasted as long as her walk from the barracks to the stables. She was still outside the building when she heard the panicked roaring of a distressed cat, and the shouts of the men trying to work together to calm it. She stuffed her breakfast in her pocket and hastened her footsteps.

Three men were stepping lightly several feet from Nena, who was growling discomfortingly. Torak had the noose of a lasso held in one hand, both hands raised towards the cat. Merril was a safe distance behind her. Opposite Torak, near Nena's head, was a young man Yvenne had never seen before, but considering they'd been expecting Prince Richard's arrival for several weeks, she didn't waste time gawping at the presence of Naboo's king-elect in her stables. He was staring at Nena a little bit uncertainly.

Nena stopped growling for a moment, tense, staring between the two men before her challengingly. Prince Richard took the opportunity to step forward, holding out a hand as if to take the great cat's bridle.

"No!" shouted Yvenne and Torak together. Yvenne rushed forward, darting in front of the prince just in time to back him up swiftly, as Nena snapped angrily at him. She continued backing the prince to a safer distance. From what she could read of his body language behind her, he was only too willing to comply. Yvenne looked over at Torak. "I assume someone is going for the tranq?" she asked.

He nodded. "Geri should be back any minute. Welcome home, ma'am."

"Thanks."

"What about those?" the prince asked, puzzled, pointing at a lockbox near the door beside them.

"Too powerful," Torak explained, one wary eye still on the irritable Nena. "She's due to drop a litter in less than three weeks. We can't risk harming the cubs."

Just then, Geri rushed in the door, a dart gun in hand, breathing heavily. His eyes widened at the sight of Yvenne. "Hey boss," he said, wincing a little. Yvenne waved away the greeting and gestured for him to get on with it. Nodding, he raised the gun and fired neatly and without hesitation, before Nena had the chance to realize what he was doing. She was one of their smartest cats, and this wasn't her first experience with the dart gun.

Fortunately, the tranquilizer darts were designed to be as soft and subtle as possible. When it struck her, Nena only turned her head sharply and took several steps backwards, causing the still-vigilant Merril behind her to scramble back as well. Yvenne held up her hand, indicating for everybody to be quiet. The special drug in this dart was more of a sedative. It wouldn't render Nena unconscious, but it would calm her down and make her docile. This was good, because Yvenne didn't want her unconscious. She wanted to examine the mother-to-be, and that was difficult if the cat wasn't standing.

About a minute later, Nena's eyes relaxed, and her shoulders drooped, draining tension. She licked her lips serenely, and looked like she was about to fall asleep. She padded the dirt of the stable floor a couple of times, and shook her head as though trying to rid herself of an errant fly. There was a collective sigh of relief from all those in the stable that was almost comical.

Prince Richard was the first to speak. "Are they always this dangerous?" He seemed a little shaken.

Yvenne turned to him at last. "Not usually, no. Ninety-nine percent of violent behavior can be traced directly to sickness or injury or…" she glanced over at Nena knowingly, "indisposition. This doesn't happen that often." The irony in these words, of course, was the fact that Yvenne's little run-in with Nala had been less than a week ago, but she decided not to bother telling him about that.

The Prince still looked skeptical but he offered no further comment.

"Boss," began Torak, "as I'm sure you've figured out, this is Richard Naberrie. Your Highness, this is Yvenne Sorenst. The boss," he finished.

Yvenne reached out and accepted the man's handshake confidently. "Welcome to Resitan Ranch." As he shook her hand, the prince was staring at her with a very confused expression. "What?" she asked.

He looked a little sheepish. "Sorry. I just thought you would be…"

"Older?" supplied Torak. At this, all the hands busted up laughing and Yvenne looked over at them, rolling her eyes.

"No older than you, Your Highness," she said as her men tried to calm down. "And if you can manage this planet, I can certainly manage this ranch."

"My apologies." Then he did something most unexpected and gave a very formal bow. Yvenne was still blinking at him in surprise as he rose again. "It is my pleasure, as well," he said. Then added, with a wry little smile, "Boss."

This caused all the men to chuckle again. Yvenne only shook her head. "From what I understand," she continued, ignoring them, "Your responsibilities here include learning things from a managerial perspective as well as that of a hand. So you'll be working with me a good deal. For now, though, I need to see to Nena and get everything caught up from my absence, so you'll be spending the rest of the day under Torak's supervision. I'll expect you to report to me here first thing tomorrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Now," Yvenne said, turning around. "Let's find out what's ailing our girl here."

* * *

_Coruscant_

"Well, this is it." Jon crossed his arms looked appraisingly around the sunlit reception area. "I actually don't make it up here as much as I should, but for all intents and purposes, it's home away from home."

"I like it," Saché said.

"It's very professional," added Dormé, nodding.

The front room of the Bakurcom corporate suite was airy and pleasant, with comfortable conversation nooks and holo-magazines lying around. A wide receptionist's counter ran the full length of the back wall, and was staffed by two or three workers, all busily taking calls and working on paperwork while they eyed Jon nervously.

"I think your people would feel calmer if the big boss man would move on elsewhere, Jon," whispered Rizzo with a smile.

Jon laughed. "You're right, let's get going. This way," he said, waving his hand. They filed through a door to the right of the counter into a long hallway lined on either side with offices. "I'm at the end," he informed them knowingly. He greeted and introduced various people as they walked along, and Saché admired how generally well-liked he seemed to be among his subordinates.

The next-to-last doorway in the hallway was occupied by a tall young woman with dark blond hair, who was deeply entrenched in some task or other when Jon knocked outside her door. She jumped a little before noticing them. Then she jumped to her feet. "Mr. Bakuro, good morning," she said, nodding her head respectively.

"Good morning, Laicha. How is everything today?" asked Jon.

"Busy as always, sir. I suppose we have you to blame for that."

"Guilty as charged. Do you think we should make some new hires?"

"I'd advise it. Maybe another floor of offices too. It's starting to get a little crowded around here, sir."

"You should just use my office, Laicha, and give yours to someone else," Jon said, laughing. "Goodness knows it's effectively yours anyway." He turned to the rest of them. "Laicha these are some good friends of mine, Saché Drianna, Immen Rizzo, and Dormé…" he paused. "Actually, I can't remember your last name, Dormé, what was it again?"

Dormé smiled. "Mernikev, Jon," she informed him.

"Right, there you have it. Everyone, this is my chief financial officer and personal assistant, Laicha Kova."

"Pleased to meet you," said Laicha, shaking all their hands in turn.

"And you also," Saché said, smiling back.

"Is there anything you'll be needing today, sir?" Laicha asked then, her eyes flicking back worriedly to her computer.

"Not today, probably. I'm just showing them around. However, the girls are going to be using my office for some private research over the next few weeks, so if you'll see that everything is ready for myself and them in the morning."

"I'll see to it myself, Mr. Bakuro."

"Very well, then. Thank you, Laicha. And now, moving on." Jon smiled, and keyed in the passcode for the far doorway with a flourish.

Saché knew Jon's assertions that he wasn't around here very much were the truth, but if she'd had reason to doubt him, it would have evaporated the instant she laid eyes on this room. It was large and pristine, with a grand desk, large windows, a comfy sofa, rows of data discs, and holos everywhere. It was beautiful, but very superficial. There was nothing personal about it. Certainly nothing that spoke of Jon.

"It's not as abandoned as it looks," Jon said knowingly, as if he'd somehow picked up on Saché's musings. "Laicha actually does a lot of work here, on various days. There are some kinds of things my computers can do that her personal unit can't. Which is why," he added, grinning, "we're using them, yes?"

"Indeed," said Dormé. She eyed the computer terminals appreciatively. "Thank you for letting us do this, Jon, it's a big help."

"No problem. You think you'll be by tomorrow?"

Dormé and Saché exchanged knowing glances. "Actually," said Dormé, "Saché will be mostly the one working on it," she said. "With both Sabé and Dooji gone, we decided it's best if I focus on keeping things running smoothly in their absence, and someone always needs to be in the Senator's offices in order to do so."

"Hmmn. Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"What's through that door, Jon?" asked Rizzo, pointing at another doorway at the far end of the room, sitting next to a small cooling unit.

"Aha," said Jon with a grin. He strolled over to it and slid it open, beckoning for them to follow. They all did so and peered inside. "Presidential perks," he said. "Personal kitchen, dining area, and refresher. There's space for a small bedroom," he said. "As if I was one of those workaholic types, honestly." He shook his head with a smile.

"So what do you use it for, then?" asked Saché curiously.

"A game room," he said with a grin. "Come see."

They all walked through the small but well-equipped kitchen alcove. "Refresher's in there," he said, pointing to the far right door. And in here…" he opened the left door and they filed into the room beyond.

"Looks like fun," Rizzo said admiringly.

There were plenty of leisure-oriented things to do, including a holochess table and a unit for dealing and overseeing sabbacc, among other things. "Guys' hidey hole," Dormé whispered to Saché, conspiratorially, who giggled in reply.

"I'm offended, Miss too-complicated-last-name-to-remember."

Dormé rolled her eyes. "Didn't you promise us lunch?"

"Oh yeah, okay. Change the subject."

"Let's go someplace expensive and charge it to Sabé's account for kicks, huh?" said Rizzo with a laugh. "It'll be a fun joke when she gets back."

Jon grinned. "Now _that_ sounds like fun. Come on ladies. It's time for the handmaidens to live on the scoundrel side. We'll start work in the morning."

* * *

**Replies:**

**Furlings are Cats**- Love the username. Haha. Thanks for the encouragement!

**REV042175**- Poor Ben. Being principled is not without its challenges. Believe me, I know. Thanks for the feedback.

**RivendellWriter**- Yeah, I think Master Yoda and all the other Jedi just need to be a little less tight-fisted, don't you? LOL

**vegetakitten**- Thanks! A very lovely compliment.

**Ashley4**- I hope you enjoy the updates!

**Kyae**- Your review really made my day. LOL Such a fabulous simile! Believe it or not, there is at least one more layer that I know of, which we're just starting to get into. :-D

* * *

**A/N:** The dialogue for the scene with Obi-Wan, Sabé, Helaine, and the suitcase is word-for-word from a flashback **lunetta** wrote for _Why Love Was Forbidden in the Old Jedi Order_

Between the holiday and the time the submission function was turned off, I decided not to bother trying to update last week. As such… two chapters this week!

Love those reviews!

Saché 


	6. Presumption

**Chapter Six**- Presumption

_Hyperspace_

"Helaine?" asked Sabé, curiously. They'd been in hyperspace for just over a day, but she'd seen little of the young Jedi Padawan. Now, however, she'd looked up to see the girl walk by the door of her suite, alone and looking lost.

Sabé stood up from the edge of her bunk, where she'd been working on a report that was due back on Coruscant. In reality, she wasn't sure when she'd be able to send it, but it helped kill the time. Approaching the door, she looked outside to find that Helaine had turned back and was waiting expectantly. "Was there something you required, Senator?" she asked.

Sabé paused. "No, Helaine, thank you. And you're not a servant, by the way."

Helaine blushed. "Yes, Senator."

"Where are you going?"

"Oh," said the girl, looking around guiltily. "Master Caine was taking a rest and she said I could look around the ship. But I can go back, if you want."

Sabé laughed. "I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was just curious. Besides that, it's not my ship, anyway. So how are you liking the journey?"

Helaine tilted her head, considering. "I've traveled in space before, ma'am," she finally said. "But usually there were other Padawans to talk to."

Sabé had been a politician long enough to be able to read into the girl's words. "So you're bored," she concluded, smiling knowingly.

Helaine looked uncomfortable. She shuffled her feet and looked down as if she was embarrassed. "Jedi shouldn't be… bored, Senator." She sounded like she was reciting something.

"Well, strictly speaking you're not quite a Jedi yet, are you?"

Helaine looked up again, a small smile hiding behind her eyes. "That's true," she conceded.

"Would you like to come in?" Sabé asked, stepping aside. The girl looked around hesitantly before nodding. "I'm actually a little bit bored myself," Sabé continued. "So I'd love to have company."

"Your room is bigger than mine," the girl noted, gazing around the cabin with interest as she stepped inside. "I'm not sure mine's even supposed to be a place to sleep, but I don't mind."

"Well, have a seat," Sabé said, nodding at the bed. "Do you want a drink?"

"No, thank you," replied Helaine, sitting gingerly on the edge of the bunk Sabé had recently vacated. Then she asked, "How do you do that to your hair?"

Surprised by this sudden, uncharacteristically proactive conversation on the girl's part, Sabé blinked before replying. "Actually, it's not all that difficult," she said. "Otherwise I wouldn't be able to do it myself. Usually, I need my friend Dormé to help me."

"My friend Nari has really, really short hair," said Helaine. "She keeps telling me I should make mine short, too. She says it's easier to duel. I don't know, though. I kind of like it this way."

"Do you think it gets in the way?" Sabé asked. She sat down in the cabin's only chair, which was bolted against the same wall as the doorway, observing Helaine. The girl's hair was a rich, lustrous shade of brown, just like Danae's. It was a decent medium length, pulled back in a simple tail at her neck.

Helaine pursed her lips. "Sometimes it does," she confessed. "Could you show me how to wear it like that? As long as it didn't take too much time to fix."

"Hmmn," said Sabé, considering. Her hair was currently full of about two-dozen pins and three or four bands. It wasn't a complicated style, but it did require some diligent work to assemble. "I'm not sure this particular one would be good for you. I don't think it would hold up very well in fight. But I do know a couple other ones that you could try."

"Really?" the girl asked eagerly. She leaned forward on the bunk, eyes bright.

"Sure," said Sabé, laughing. She sprang up from the chair again and headed for the storage compartments in the bulkhead. "Actually, we'll be needing…" She opened the main hatch, where about half of the clothes she'd brought were hanging. On the inside of the hatch was a container designed for holding accessories and cosmetics. Helaine came to stand beside her. "Aha," said Sabé. "Here we are." She pulled out a hairbrush and her best wire wrap and handed them to Helaine. "Two basic essentials."

Helaine took the articles but did not look at them. Instead, she was looking with interest at the outfits hanging inside the storage space. "No wonder you had so many bags," she said in wonderment. "I've never seen so many gowns."

"Sadly, that's only a small portion of them, I'm afraid," said Sabé. "I'm terribly spoiled about my wardrobe. Some of these I just can't bear to be without." She stole a sidelong glance at Helaine, and smiled at the girl's wide-eyed wonderment. "This one, for example," she said, pulling out a soft lavender gown of light, translucent material over a septsilk slip dress in the same color. Iridescent beads lined the scooped collar, the cuffs, and the hemline, and a flowering vine, also made of beads, twisted around the skirt and bodice. "This dress was made by a very dear friend of mine. She makes most of my gowns, actually, and my sister's."

"It's beautiful," Helaine breathed, almost reverently. She reached out and brushed her fingertips against the soft fabric, which whispered quietly at her touch. Then she yanked her hand back suddenly. "I'm sorry," she said. She looked down hurriedly at her hands, and found that the brush and wrap were still clutched there. She held them up. "Is this all we need, then?"

Sabé nodded. "Yup." She hung the dress back up and shut the hatch. "Now, take out your hair tie and sit on the chair there. Sideways, so I can stand behind you."

Helaine did as she instructed, and began fiddling with the elastic band as Sabé slowly began running the brush through her hair. It was very straight and quite free of tangles. Clearly the girl spent at least some time doing this herself. "Your hair is beautiful," Sabé commented. "I think I can see why you don't want to cut it. Of course, I come from Naboo. Most girls there wear their hair long."

"Really?" Helaine asked. "I'm from Naboo, too, you know."

Sabé focused on keeping the brush steady. "Well, that's a nice coincidence," she said. "Have you ever been there?"

Helaine shrugged. "No, not since I was a baby."

Abruptly, the brush hit a snag. Frowning, Sabé pulled back the hair behind Helaine's ear to find a very small braid, the ends of which were tied off with colored bands. "My Padawan braid," the girl supplied.

"I can see that," Sabé said. "How long have you had it?"

"Well, this one I've only had about a couple of weeks," Helaine replied, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. "Since I was assigned to Master Caine. Back when I was with the crèche I had one on the left side. But we switched it."

"I've always wondered," said Sabé, "and maybe you can tell me. What do Jedi with no hair do for Padawan braids?"

"They tease the rest of us," said Helaine, so emphatically that Sabé started giggling. "The Corellian Jedi call them 'paddlehorns,' and that's worse." She sighed. "Honestly? It depends. They do different sorts of things. I heard of a Trandoshan Padawan once who got a tattoo when he was old enough." In the mirror across from them, Sabé saw Helaine wrinkle her nose. "I don't think I'd like that very much."

"A tattoo for a Jedi?" Sabé echoed, laughing. "Of what?"

"I don't know," Helaine said, exasperated, though her amusement was clear. Then she cocked her head. "A lightsaber?"

Sabé shook her head. "Too obvious. How about… a blue-colored nerf?"

Helaine laughed loudly. "What does that have to do with being a Jedi?" she asked.

Sabé shrugged, grinning mischievously. "If you're going to get a tattoo, it might as well be of something interesting."

"Hmmn. Okay, how about… meteorite?"

"A little better, but still not very creative. I'm thinking more along the lines of… a bald Wookie."

This time the girl giggled so hard she rocked forward in her chair, and Sabé dropped her hair just in time so she wouldn't pull it. "A swear word in Corellian!" she cried.

"Now we're talking," Sabé laughed. "An ewok in a dress."

"Master Yoda's head!"

"Helaine!" Both girls looked up suddenly at the sound of a sharp voice interrupting them. Lanelle Caine was standing in the cabin doorway, looking somehow both shocked and grave at the same time.

The young padawan stiffened in the chair. "Master Caine," she said meekly. Sabé dropped the girl's hair so she could stand up. "Are you well rested?"

"I am, Padawan. Please return to your cabin. We must work on meditation exercises."

"Yes, Master." Still looking mortified, Helaine rushed from the room. Lanelle Caine studied Sabé with an accusing stare for half a moment before following.

As for Sabé, she only felt baffled. She put away the hair things where she'd gotten them, and returned to her report, muddling over the strange encounter. Jedi were certainly difficult people to understand.

* * *

_Theed, Naboo_

Ceidron Metz had taken quite a bit on his plate this semester. Besides a full course of classes, he was involved with the Berkin group, which held debates outside the school nearly everyday. Then there was his out-of-class research, and his part-time work at the jazz café. Right now he was rushing through the library between classes, heading to Naboo Ecology.

The class itself was an elective, and one that he was very pleased with. His chosen field was almost an elective, in it's own way. Technically, his major was political science, but what he really wanted to work in was cross-species relations, and the groundbreaking situation on Naboo between the humans and the Gungans had made the planet a prime locale for his studies.

The Naboo were a puzzle to him. They seemed to be almost a world apart, in many ways, all the more odd because the Chancellor of the Republic was a Naboo native. Though they were good people, he found that they tended to be very self-focused, not becoming involved with the outside galaxy as much as other worlds. Then again, it was easy to do on a world as beautiful as this one. He himself often succumbed to it. The fulfilling life he'd led thus far on Naboo, so different from his turbulent childhood, made him sometimes fancy he could live his whole life here.

Such thoughts were not long entertained. He was only here temporarily. He didn't really belong. Part of him hated their isolationistic tendencies. They were so high and mighty that they'd ignored even their own neighbors for hundreds of years. They pretended to have a democracy, yet the same dynasty had led the whole planet by the nose for nearly three centuries. True, this particular family seemed to serve the planet well, for aristocrats, but the principle of the situation still disgusted him. More alarming was the reaction he'd gotten from the other Naboo when he'd tried to express these sentiments. They practically idolized the Naberries, and any slight on the family was a grave insult to the average Naboo.

Never had this situation been more clearly illustrated than during his encounter with the Princess Elsinoré under the Berkin statue. He hadn't known who she was, and he'd been baffled by how the crowd had so quickly deferred to her. Even the most vocal of his Naboo friends had been quiet. It wasn't until afterward that Metty had told him she was the Princess. At the time, Metty had clearly expected Ceidron to be awed and even a little horrified by the headstrong way he had challenged her, but he felt no such thing. It was she, after all, who had instigated the debate. If he had offended her, it was her own fault. She was used to people yielding to her at every turn, but he would not behave so.

And yet… he didn't really think she'd been offended. The set of her head and shoulders, the way she carried herself, her entire bearing certainly said she expected to command attention. He thought he might have surprised her with his brashness, but not offended. She'd actually seemed almost intrigued.

Whatever. The point was that the Naboo were entirely too caught up with their monarchy (as it effectively was), and he was going to study Naboo ecology so that he would have a good background when he served an internship in Otoh Gunga next semester. He'd already gotten permission from the dean to count the experience towards his degree, provided, of course, he gave a full and detailed report and thesis on his research. As this was Ceidron's personal desire anyway, he had no objections.

The library here at the University would never be hailed as one of the prime research locales of the galaxy, but it was not too shabby either. Adding to its appeal was the fact that the building, like every other in Theed, was a work of art. He'd often admired the library's simple and practical beauty. Presently, he was passing through the central hub of the building, a large atrium with data kiosks aesthetically arranged across its center. Around and above the atrium, three levels of datashelves surrounded it, lined with balcony railings that looked down onto the kiosks below. The ceiling was glass, letting bright sunshine filter down onto the students.

When he was about halfway across the floor, one of those students caught his eye. It was Princess Elsinoré. Ceidron was somewhat surprised. He'd known she was a student here, but didn't expect her to be studying in the library like everyone else. For one thing, the palace had a library of its own, with certain resources that the University did not have, which was a situation he'd been pressing to have changed. She was reading something on a datascreen, but he was too far away to make out what. A datapad was turned on by her right hand, as if to take notes at some point, though she did not appear to be taking any at the moment.

He didn't have much time before class, but Ceidron was surprised to find himself wandering in her direction. He couldn't say why, perhaps it was nothing more than morbid curiosity.

"What are you reading?"

The girl looked up, surprised. She stared at him blankly for a moment, before recognition blossomed on her features. "Oh, it's you," she said matter-of-factly. Then she answered, "Corper Pomaile's Scientific Theory of Politics," and returned to her reading.

Miffed by this less-than-cordial greeting, Ceidron snorted. "A load of rubbish. You can't scientifically analyze anything about politics."

She didn't look up, but she said, "I'm going to assume you've read it before you make such an ignorant pronouncement." When he did not immediately reply, she looked up with mock surprise. "You mean… you haven't read it? It's supposed to be a landmark work in its field. I'm surprised at you, Mr.…?"

"Metz. Ceidron Metz."

"I'm surprised at you Mr. Metz. You seem smarter than that."

"I may not have read it, Princess Elsinoré, but that doesn't mean I'm not familiar with it. You don't seem like a simpleton yourself. I'm surprised you're bothering with it. Or is it required reading for everyone in your family? You Naboo do seem to have your government down to a science."

She looked at him consideringly for a moment, before standing up, turning off the datascreen and pulling the disk out of its reader. "You're making a great many presumptions about me, Mr. Metz."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"First of all, you're assuming that just because I'm reading this book, it means I support what it says. If you only ever read things that you agree with, then you are a narrow-sighted, uninformed individual, and I'm sorry for you." She slipped the datadisk into her bag and slung it over her shoulder.

A middle-aged man in a guard's uniform walked up just then. "Is this person bothering you, Princess?"

"No, Bothey, it's all right." Bothey nodded, but gave Ceidron a clear warning glare before he walked off.

"And what else?" Ceidron asked challengingly.

"What else?"

"In what other ways am I being so terribly presumptuous?"

She smiled. "You assume that I, like my family, am studying politics. I'm a music major, Mr. Metz. This book is required reading for my government class, which is a core requirement for this University, and a one I will be eager to put behind me. If you really want to know, we're studying the history of political theory, and this book, as I already pointed out, is a landmark work in that area."

Ceidron stared at her, a little dumbfounded, and a little annoyed by her superiority.

She began to walk away, but turned back one last time. "If it makes you feel better, though, you were right about one thing."

"What's that?"

She smiled. "The book is a load of rubbish."

Ceidron crossed his arms, and eyed her speculatively. "You should come to Berkin more often, you know."

"It's not really that interesting to me."

"Didn't seem so the other day. You were being rather passionate in your reasoning, if I recall correctly."

The memory of it made her smile again. "True. Well… maybe I will. We'll see."

As she walked away, Ceidron watched her with renewed interest, and desperately hoped she would come. Perhaps then he could begin to show the rest of the Naboo that the Naberries were, after all, only human.

* * *

_Outside Rialdas, Naboo_

The day after his introduction to 'the boss,' Richard found himself under her very uncompromising tutelage, trying to lasso fenceposts, and doing a rather abysmal job of it.

"If you can't do this, you'll never be able to catch a moving tusk-cat," the girl pointed out unsympathetically. "Now, try again. Keep your wrist in the right position, like I showed you," she added.

Concentrating hard, Richard twirled the stout rope several times in his hand before letting it fly towards his distant target. It fell too far to the left by several feet, landing with a dusty plop. 

"Well," Yvenne said. "At least you're getting the distance. That's something."

"I don't understand why I need to learn this at all," Richard said, frowning as he began pulling the rope in again, winding it as he went. "Isn't it a little… archaic? Surely there's a more effective and convenient way of catching tusk-cats."

"When you know how to do it right, it is convenient," she explained. "As for archaic, let's just say that sometimes older methods are cheaper and more reliable."

"If you say so," he said doubtfully, picking up the noose of the lasso and staring at it dubiously.

Yvenne did not reply, but gave a heavy sigh. Richard looked up, wondering if she was really that unhopeful about his lack of lasso talent, but found that she was not looking at him anymore. Instead, her eyes were fixed on a figure approaching them from the main stables to the left. Even if Richard hadn't been able to see the figure's face, he would have recognized it as Lord Resitan's daughter, if only because she was the first person he'd seen all day wearing a color that didn't blend in with the landscape. Almost unconsciously, he stood up a little straighter and brushed dust from his pants and shirt. 

"Good morning, Your Highness!" Réka called when she was close enough, and waved with a bright smile. 

He waved in return, and sensed Yvenne watching him from the corner of her eye.

When Réka was close enough to speak conversationally, she paused to catch her breath slightly. "Good morning, Yvenne," she added, nodding at the other woman.

"Good morning, Réka," Yvenne replied.

"Yvenne, I have a favor to ask of you," Réka said sweetly. "I thought maybe the prince would like to see some part of the ranch besides the stables, so I made up a little picnic lunch and thought I'd invite him for a ride. Do you think you could let him go for the afternoon? I'm sure you have a lot to get caught up on."

"Réka, I really think that the prince should—"

"Yvenne," said the other girl, smiling more widely. "Please? I'm sure the prince is very hungry, aren't you, Your Highness?" she turned to Richard for help, eyes imploring.

He laughed. "Well," he began awkwardly, feeling somewhat torn. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Actually—"

"There, you see?" Réka said triumphantly. "You don't want the poor man to starve, do you, Yvenne?"

Yvenne looked over at Richard appraisingly and he gave a sheepish shrug. "I'll work late tonight," he offered. "You said you wanted to teach me the closedown procedures at some point anyway, right?" He offered his best smile, the one he used on his sisters whenever he wanted something.

To his surprise, the smallest of amused smirks caught the corner of Yvenne's mouth. She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said. "But I expect you back here right after supper, agreed?"

"Agreed."

He walked back with Réka to the stables and she helped him pick out a suitable mount. He protested his dusty clothing, but she waved dismissively, saying it didn't really matter. "We're sitting on the ground anyway."

The ride was pleasant, and they spent much time in enjoyable small talk on the way. Réka told him a little bit about Rial's general climate shifts and season changes, which weren't quite as drastic as those in Theed, but nonetheless significant. 

At length they approached a dark green tree line, which bordered a brown, merry little stream with a sandy bottom and very grassy banks. Here they set up the picnic Réka had brought, which was more like a feast in Richard's opinion. 

"How are you liking your time here so far, Your Highness?"

"Please, call me Richard."

This seemed to please Réka greatly. "Very well. Same question, Richard," she said with a tease.

"I find it most interesting," he said without hesitation. "Padmé had a good idea, sending me here. It's so different."

"Hmmn," she said, her eyes suddenly dreamy. She pulled her knees to her chest and stared lazily at the distant skyline. "I should like to see Theed someday, though."

"You've never been?" he asked, surprised.

She shook her head. "Never."

"Well, that's something we'll have to remedy."

She eyed him shrewdly. "Is that a promise?" she asked.

"Sure. Why not?"

She smiled. "I'll hold you to it, you know."

He laughed. "So what do you want to see the most?"

"The Museums of art and antiquities. I've always especially wanted to see the Naberrie tapestry collections."

"You're interested in art?"

"Very much so."

"Who are your favorite artists?"

"Well, I have an unquenchable passion for Lystra, anything he did in painting or sculpture. And Kellion's holo-displays have always been fascinating, too."

"And Naberrie tapestries?" he added.

She gave a big smile. "Yes."

"Then when you come, I'd be happy to show you the palace's private collection."

"Oh, that would be so lovely!" she said excitedly.

"It would be my honor," he said. Then he laughed. "Not to mention pretty darn easy to pull off. I do live there."

"Tell me what it's like," she said, eyes bright. "Tell me about your sisters. They must be so elegant."

He laughed. "Well, that all depends. If you like art so much I suppose you'd get along best with Claria. She's quite the musician. One of the best."

"Claria?"

"Er, sorry. Elsinoré."

"Ah, of course."

The conversation went on, light and easy, and in no short supply, for almost an hour and a half before the pair of them started back. By that time, Richard knew he was utterly an completely enraptured.

* * *

_Hyperspace_

Two days out from Coruscant, Obi-Wan ventured in search of Sabé. He found her in Dooji's science lab, deep in discussion with the Gungan. She was wearing, instead of her accustomed finery, a plain, dark blue jumpsuit and her hair was in a simple knot atop her head. She was leaning on the lab's countertop, her chin propped on the heel of her hand, chatting animatedly.

When Obi-Wan stepped through the small doorway that headed the lab, both the Senator and the Gungan looked up. Dooji gave a small, polite nod of his head, and Sabé smiled. "Ben," she greeted. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to speak to you," he said simply. "But there's no rush." He turned to the Gungan. "How do you like the facilities, Representative?" he asked.

"Muy muy splashin'" Dooji replied, tapping the bulkhead above him appreciatively. "Wesa gots da best stuff here."

"So it'll do?"

"For certin'."

"What is it you want with all these scientific things, Ben?" Sabé asked curiously. In almost a week she still had not stopped referring to him by that nickname. Of course, Obi-Wan hadn't said anything to prevent her. Perhaps she didn't realize how odd it seemed to him.

"It is my hope that we may obtain a viable sample of the drug so that Dooji may analyze it," he explained.

She looked intrigued. "I see," she replied, nodding slowly.

He gestured with a hand toward the data terminal. "I've had Master Caine program the interface here to give us Jedi-level access to the Republic network. It should give us plenty of information we might need."

"Hopefully Saché and Dormé will find something for us, as well," Sabé said, straightening. She leaned back and stretched. "So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Obi-Wan looked uncomfortably at Dooji. What he had come to speak of didn't necessarily need to be private, but it wasn't exactly amicable conversation, either. To his credit, the Gungan seemed to understand this. "Mesa takin' dese tings back to da bunk," he said, gathering with efficient care a satchel of instruments that had been spread on the table. 

When he'd gone, Obi-Wan turned back to Sabé and sighed. "I've been requested," he said in formal tones, "by Master Caine,"—here Sabé made a face and he paused in amusement—"to ask you not to interfere in her authority over Helaine."

Sabé snorted. "Interfere?" she echoed. "What in the name of Corona is she talking about?"

"From what I understand you were—" he paused. What was the term Lanelle had used? She hadn't been very flattering. "—coddling her," he concluded.

"I was fixing her hair." Sabé frowned. Obi-Wan was a little surprised. He had rather expected Sabé wouldn't be quite so sure to what instance Lanelle had been referring. He'd spent much of the past few days with Anakin, and hadn't seen much of Sabé or the other two Jedi. 

"Teaching her jokes…" he went on.

"She was bored, Ben!"

"Easy," he said, laughing nervously, holding up a hand. "I'm just trying to understand."

Sabé exhaled very loudly, pressing her lips together tightly. Then she said, "Okay. I won't look at the girl. I won't talk to her. I won't breathe on her. Tell her high and mightiness Jedi Master that she doesn't need to worry about me corrupting her precious padawan." She shook her head. "I feel sorry for her."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and willed himself to be calming. When he opened them, he looked at Sabé. "Helaine is very young," he said, slowly. "Very impressionable. Master Caine feels it is critical that she establish a strong authoritative relationship with the girl in her first few weeks as a padawan. She believes your efforts to be friendly will undermine that authority."

"She told you that?" Sabé looked incredulous.

He shook his head. "No, it's just my observation. I've known Master Caine for some time now."

"Were you that way with Anakin?"

"Anakin—" Obi-Wan echoed. He sighed. "Anakin is a special case. Sometimes, yes, I am firm with him. But lately it seems to be of little effect."

"I don't understand Jedi, Ben," Sabé said. She leaned back against the counter now and folded her arms. 

Curious, he stepped over and sat one of the stools bolted to the floor so that he could better see her face. "What is it you don't understand?" he asked.

She licked her lips, looking thoughtful before she spoke. "You're not supposed to have emotional attachments, right? That's why Jedi are forbidden to marry. That's why Jedi potentials are taken from their homes as children." He wondered at the bitterness in her tone.

"Yes, that's right."

"How is that possible, Ben?" she insisted, turning to face him more fully. "I could understand if all Jedi were like Lanelle Caine," she went on, spitting the name out as though it were distasteful. "I mean, for crying out loud, the woman seems to think it's an offense to some higher power if she cracks a smile, but… as for the rest, how is it possible to not have emotion? No matter how much training, no matter how much discipline, Jedi are still flesh and blood, aren't they?"

"There is no emotion, there is peace," he stated simply. 

"That's a platitude, Ben! It isn't life! You can't stop people being people. They're going to feel things, no matter how much you try to train them not to. Life is… gritty and passionate and violent!"

"Yes, violent," he countered. "Violent, dangerous. The Jedi are trying to uphold a standard of justice and peace. We cannot be riding on the whim of every emotion."

"On Naboo grown-ups are taught to control their emotions. Not pretend they don't exist." Sabé glared at him darkly.

Obi-Wan could only stare at her, wondering how this conversation had become an attack on him personally. It was quite a new experience. Most of the people he'd ever met found the Jedi so awe-inspiring that it only prompted a reverent reaction from them. But now he was face to face with a fiery-faced little woman who was down-right defacing everything he'd ever believed in. He had no idea what to say to make her understand.

After a very long, awkward pause in which they did not look at one another, Sabé spoke again. "I know her mother," she said softly.

Something akin to panic swooped in Obi-Wan's stomach. "What do you mean?"

Sabé looked up. "Helaine's mother," she repeated. "She's my sister's dressmaker."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded mutely.

"How?"

"Her name, her face, her bearing." Sabé gave a bitter laugh. "She told me herself she was from Naboo. I showed her some of the gowns Danae made me."

"You didn't tell her, did you?" he asked, the panic transforming from an ember to a full-grown blaze.

"No. I know better than that." 

They were quiet another moment, while Obi-Wan inwardly digested both his relief and the impact of all Sabé's words from before. He still didn't know what to make of them. 

Once again, it was Sabé who broke the silence. "I'll try to keep away from Helaine," she said in a tired, resigned voice. "I still don't understand why this is such a big deal. For Danae's sake I thought I'd try to be her friend, but I see now that was a mistake. I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not," she said, "but I'll do my best to avoid her."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said quietly.

She looked up at him sadly. "I know how much you cared for Master Qui-Gon," she said quietly. "And I know how much you, in turn, care for Anakin," she added, getting to her feet. She walked towards the door, but paused just as she passed him. "You can't tell me these things aren't real, Ben."

Obi-Wan Kenobi did not sleep well that night.

* * *

**Replies:** - See previous chapter!

* * *

Until next time…

Cheers!

Saché 


	7. Music of the Night

**Chapter Seven**- _Music of the Night_

_Theed, Naboo_

In a young handmaiden named Versé, Claria had found a good friend and ally. Through some twist of fate, Versé had the same love of jazz that Claria had, and had often assisted her in escaping her guards and sneaking into the club just outside of the palace. This night was such a chance.

The pair were dressed in pants and knee-length cloaks with deep cowls. It was a chilly autumn night, so they wore thick tunics, as well as scarves and gloves. During Claria's first clandestine visit to the club, she had quickly discovered how out of place she looked among that crowd, so gone were the jewelry and the gowns, and her hair was set as simply as her long blonde locks would allow. Versé had gone shopping for outfits, and the effect was pleasing. Claria liked the clothing almost as much as she liked the music she wanted to hear.

The house manager had recognized her on her second visit, but at her evident disappointment, had said nothing. He was always there when she visited, and every night he led her to a dark corner table and sent a waiter he could trust to serve her. Sometimes he would even serve her himself, but as this was a busy night, Claria figured that he'd send someone to her instead. Not that she ever needed much—the music itself was intoxicating enough.

Tonight, Versé ordered. Their drinks arrived a little bit later than usual, as the club was quite packed, but Claria hardly cared. This was one of those few nights when she could just relax with a cup of hot merix (one of Versé's favorites) and listen to the valadrett sing about the deep, mournful loneliness of the soul.

"Isn't that drink a little strong for you?"

Claria nearly spewed her drink from her mouth at the sudden appearance of a familiar voice, one which she'd not expected to hear again. "Excuse me?" she said. Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Metz character behind her.

"I asked, Princess, if that drink isn't a little strong for you," he repeated, though the appellation he used was quiet enough to escape notice.

Claria blinked several times. "Are you following me everywhere for a reason, Mr. Metz?" she asked.

By that time, Versé had looked away from the dark stage and seen the man. She reached under her cloak for her blaster, but Claria raised her hand to stop her. "It's all right, Versé."

"Are you sure?" the handmaiden asked.

Metz made a clucking noise and pulled up a chair, spinning it around and straddling it, his arms folded across the top. "So the pacifist Naboo carry weapons? I never would have imagined."

Versé opened her mouth to speak, but then Claria spoke first. "If you're done insulting my friend, Metz, you can stop following me around."

"You make a great many presumptions about me, Princess," he said, mimicking her words to him the last time they'd met in the library.

"How so?"

"For one, you assume that I was trying to insult your friend," he replied smoothly. "Poke fun, perhaps, but mostly, I was pointing out the irony."

Claria raised a skeptical brow, but decided not to press the subject. "And?"

"You presume," he continued, "that I'm here solely because of you, which is terribly arrogant, you know. It just so happens that I'm here for a completely different woman."

She had _no_ idea why, but her cheeks flamed. "And who might that be?"

"The owner." In the dim lighting he grinned, and Claria looked away to hide her blushing. "Strangely enough, I work here," he added.

Versé, who had been looking on in horror, suddenly spoke. "Sir, I suggest you leave before I call the authorities. You obviously have no idea to whom you are speaking in such a manner."

"I know very well who she is, and I think I can guess who you are, too," he replied, his eyes trained on Claria. "So why are _you_ here? Surely you're not following me."

She sat up very straight. "I'm here because I happen to like the music."

"Following the trend?" he asked, raising one unimpressed eyebrow.

"Hardly. It's not exactly mainstream in my circle."

She had put more emphasis on her station than she had intended, apparently, because Metz stiffened. "Learn about it in a classroom?"

Versé sighed. "This is uncalled for."

Unexpectedly, Metz extended his hand across the table. "Ceidron Metz," he said. "Glad to meet you too."

The handmaiden placed a wary hand in his. "Charmed."

"So do you like this music, Versé?" he asked.

"I introduced the Princess to it," she replied. Her tone would have indicated her annoyance, even if her demeanor hadn't. "And for your information, her Highness plays the jazz valadrett rather proficiently."

"Does she?" he asked. "Then I wonder if she'd be willing to play a number or two after this set."

Claria decided to end that conversation. "No, she isn't," she said. "I'm sure you've got musicians enough scheduled to play tonight."

"Actually, no, we don't," Ceidron said, returning his attention to her. "We had a soloist lined up tonight, but she called in sick at the last minute. We couldn't find a replacement."

"It's out of the question for security alone," Versé interjected. It was true, but Claria was glad she hadn't had to say it. Deep down, she almost wanted to say yes. She never got to perform jazz—her private instructor didn't approve of the style, so she didn't get to play it at palace concerts. Her only chance to play was in the privacy of her practice room, which wasn't very satisfying. Of course, playing it here would probably shatter the mood, which was half of the reason why people came to hear the music.

"No one will recognize her," he said. "I barely did myself. It's dark in here, and she's not exactly dressed the way she normally is."

"But the point is," Versé continued, "that you _did_ recognize her. I'm sure others would too."

Ceidron shook his head. "I was sent here to serve you two, and it took me three trips to recognize her," he replied. "Look at the stage—it's all dark, and no one's watching it anyway. Besides," he added, pulling his beret from his head and placing it on Claria's, "she wears a hat and keeps the scarf on, and no one recognizes her."

"Did you not hear her?" Versé asked. "She said no."

Ceidron shot a pleading look at Claria, who bit her lip. "I don't have my valadrett."

"That's okay," he said. "The band has a valadrett player, and I'm sure she won't mind letting you borrow it. It'll be all warmed up and everything. I'll be right back."

Before she could protest again, he had run up to the stage. He returned a few moments later, with a reed flute in his hand. "Here, she's fine with it."

"But—"

"Just play," Ceidron interrupted. "Just play. Don't think about the people. Just play."

Versé was giving her a very disapproving glare, but Ceidron's eyes were more compelling. Slowly she nodded. "One piece."

"Anything," he said. "As long as you play. My boss will be thrilled."

The band was filing off the stage, and Claria took the valadrett from Ceidron's hands. "One piece," she repeated, and slowly made her way to stage.

* * *

When the Princess reached the steps, Ceidron thought for a second that she was going to back out, judging from her hesitation. But then she continued (much to Versé's displeasure) up to the stool that had been placed in the middle of the stage. It was very dark in that spot, so his assertions that no one would recognize her were affirmed.

She started with a simple run that belied her classical training, and for a moment, Ceidron thought that she wasn't going to be able to do this. But then she held a high note for a while, a tone that seemed to pierce through everything in the room. People still carried on with their drinks and their conversation, but little by little that note began to penetrate. From that point, the valadrett at her lips began to sing.

From the heights of that note, she plunged into an ocean depth of pitch, digging down to tones rarely heard on that soprano instrument. She was fearless as well as talented, it would seem. And then she brought it up, slowly, to a melody both haunting and beautiful. It tripped along lightly, like leaves in a pond, but occasionally Princess Elsinoré would allow a simple scale or arpeggio to creep in unawares, giving the tune an intensity which he hadn't expected.

Eventually, though, the melody transformed again, into something that was far less schooled than what had come before it. The Princess had obviously become more comfortable up there on stage, and she was starting to pour herself into the music. Her fingers settled more comfortably on the keys, and the valadrett seemed to be speaking instead of just singing. The room became very quiet, except for the sound of her instrument. And they listened.

In the music, Ceidron heard frustration at a society that kept her pent up in one niche. It was frustration and loneliness, ennui and restlessness. The notes became faster and faster, and the words they conveyed became more insistent. Her fingers flew on the keys as she played a melody that would have given any of her concertos a run for its credits. The music was mournful and soulful, pleading and proclaiming. It was almost rebellion. It was almost love.

And then, with a low, tremoring note, she stopped.

The room filled with applause, and she stood and bowed. The audience was demanding an encore, but she fled the stage. When she returned to Ceidron and Versé, she was pale and shaking, as if from exertion. "Versé, are you ready to go home?" she asked.

The handmaiden, as she surely was, nodded. "I'm ready whenever you are."

Princess Elsinoré handed the valadrett back to Ceidron. "Please thank the woman for me, Mr. Metz," she said. She started putting on her cloak and gloves.

"Wait," he blurted. "Stay for the next set. It's a singer with the house band."

She shook her head vehemently, pulling her hood up. "No, I don't think so," she replied. "I'm sorry."

The Princess walked away, and the handmaiden stopped only long enough to pay for their drinks. In her distraction she left a rather large tip. Not that Ceidron minded, really. But still, it felt a little odd to be tipped for insulting them and provoking the Princess into performing in a club. He was glad he had managed to convince her, though. Very glad.

And it wasn't until the club closed that he realized that the Princess still had his hat.

* * *

_Corporate Sector, Coruscant_

"Jon, what is _this_?"

Jon looked up from the file he'd been copying to see Saché staring at him disapprovingly. She was standing by the small cooling unit he kept in his office, where she'd gone a moment before to get a drink. The door was open, and in her hand was a storage container, full of something that had started out as a cream color, but was now turning a rather uncomfortable shade of grayish-green.

He licked his lips, torn between embarrassment over his poor domestic habits and amusement at the disbelieving horror on Saché's face.

He pushed back from the desk, crossed the short distance to the cooling unit, and took it from her hand to get a closer look. "Oh," he said knowingly, "that's the hawkbat egg topei I brought home from Top&Boor's last time I went there.

Saché wrinkled her nose in a very becoming way. "You mean it _used_ to be topei," she said. "Right now it looks like something that should be abandoned in the deepest, darkest hole of Kessel and forgotten about by all intelligent life. Then again, it's potent enough that it could spontaneously combust _into_ intelligent life."

He shrugged, and couldn't resist a grin. "It is pretty ripe, I guess." Saché only gave another disapproving _hmph_ and tossed the container into the waste bin. "Hey, what about my container?" he asked in mock indignation.

She was nonplussed. "If _you_ want to open that thing, Jon, be my guest." Peering back into the still-open cooling unit, she pulled out a bottle of juice and began searching the cupboard next to it for a glass.

"I don't think there are any clean ones, Sach, you can just drink out of the bottle, if you want."

Saché closed her eyes at this remark, then shook her head, a small smile trying to hide itself on her lips. "No thank you, Jon. I can wash a glass." She headed for the kitchen. Jon watched her as the door slid open. "Jon Bakuro!" she cried, seeing the utter mess that was on the other side. "For goodness sake, what does your assistant _do_ all day?"

Still grinning—she was so cute when she was like this—he stepped in behind her to see a large stack of dirty dishes next to the sink, a brimming waste bin, and a small service table still littered with lunch crumbs. "She works, Sach. She's not the maid."

"Please tell me that this is just the maid's week off, then?"

He shrugged. "Beats me."

Saché let out a very disapproving sigh, shaking her head even more fiercely, and stormed into the room, rolling up her sleeves. "Honestly. You'd think a full grown man of sense like you, Jon, who's lived and moved in the universe would now how to do basic kitchen-cleaning. _Basic_, Jon, I'm not talking about scouring the tiles here!" She had the hot water already running as she spoke and started straightening the dishes piled haphazardly on the side counter. "I mean, really, is it _that_ hard to wash a glass when you need one?" A moment's search yielded a cleaning rag in her hand. Jon blinked. He hadn't even known where those were kept. "I know you grew up in a wealthy family, but that's not really an excuse. I've lived with Eirtaé, and _she's_ not a slob." Amidst all the clanking, Jon noticed that the pile of dishes had somehow been sorted into various types—glasses, plates, silverware, bowls, and pots. The first of the glasses was dunked into the water before he had so much as a chance to breath. "I know it's not necessarily a male thing, either. My father isn't like this. Richard isn't like this. Taren isn't like this."

"Saché!" he yelled, trying not to laugh. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her this animated, and he was loving every minute of it.

She halted, mid-rant and turned to stare at him, up to her elbows in soapsuds. "What?" she asked, almost sounding surprised.

"I think you need a break. We've been working awhile. You're probably hungry. Let's go Chirion's, it's not that far from here."

She blinked a couple times, then looked around at the offending kitchen in near-dismay. Then she looked back at him. "But—" she began.

"I promise," he said, holding up a hand, "I'll let you finish washing dishes when we get back." He made no effort to hide the twinkle in his eyes.

She pursed her lips, thoughtfully, then pulled her hands out of the water. "Chirion's is awfully ritzy, Jon, I don't know," she said, suddenly hesitant.

"Are you saying you're not good enough for it?" he asked, frowning.

"Well, no, but—"

"But what?"

"I don't want you spending too much on me."

"Geez, c'mon Sach, you know I'm loaded." This made her smile and roll her eyes simultaneously. "Call it a thank you for all your help, if you like," he continued. "Besides, it'll give us a chance to take stock of what all we've worked on."

She hesitated a minute longer, before exuding a small sigh. "Fine. But at least let me swing by the Senator's apartments and change."

An hour later, sitting at a quiet table for two in one of Coruscant's finest restaurants, Jon was seriously regretting having let Saché change clothes, for she looked even more stunning than usual. He kept reminding himself firmly that they were _not_ on a date, and decided that this sudden brainstorm of his hadn't been particularly advisable for his health. Spending too much real time with Saché made him both deliciously happy and decidedly achy at the same time. No, not very healthy at all.

"I've been researching the crime files of previously broken drug trails," she was now saying. He should have known she would take his suggestion of mixing work with pleasure to heart. "There's a lot to learn. I can only hope that some of it will help us find some pattern in the case of glowquartz traffic."

"And I've been trying to learn more about the drug itself," he added. "But I'm afraid there's very little to be found at this stage. Very few arrests have been made on glowquartz-related charges, and nobody seems to have obtained a credible sample of it to see what it's even made of. I have a feeling that most people that use it don't know what's in it."

Saché shook her head sadly. "I can't understand why someone would want to harm their bodies like that. It just makes no sense."

Jon sighed. "I'm not saying that I agree with it," he said, slowly. "But you and I have no idea where some of these people have been, what they've seen. If your life was nightmarish enough, I suppose, the offer of some chemical stimulation to escape for awhile might be too hard for some people to resist."

She looked thoughtful. "Maybe you're right," she said at last. "I am very naïve, most of the time. I suppose most would say I live a very sheltered and comfortable life."

Jon nodded. "Me too."

"It almost makes me feel guilty, sometimes."

"Don't start thinking that way, you'll only drive yourself nuts. Believe me, I've been there."

Saché cocked her head, studying him quizzically. "But you do good things for the galaxy, Jon. You get people jobs, even those not on Naboo. You're helping to break up some of the Federation's influence, and that can only be a good thing in a capital market. Lower costs, higher standard of living, right?"

Jon groaned. "Please, I already took economics three too many times."

She laughed softly. "Sorry. But it is true. I wish my life could help so many people like that."

The ache in Jon's heart seemed to swell with equal parts admiration and sadness. Sabé and Eirtaé were right. There was no way in a thousand generations he would ever deserve this girl. "Saché, listen to me." He leaned forward and studied her face with all the genuine seriousness he possessed. "I don't ever want you to try and put yourself down when you're around me. Yeah, sure, I give people jobs, but so does the Federation and every other power-hungry mogul out there. You have a heart of service, and you give people your love unapologetically, with everything inside you. You couldn't possibly give this gift to thousands of people because it would drain you. But that doesn't mean it has any less of an effect on the galaxy." He leaned back. "In fact, I'd say that in the long run, it has a far greater benefit."

She was quiet for a very long time. He studied her, wondering if she would take his words to heart or just flush in embarrassment. Maybe both. At long last, however, she gave a small smile, and said, "You know, for a—what did you call it—a power hungry mogul, you have a very good way with words."

Jon laughed. "Better than my way with basic kitchen-cleaning, I take it?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Definitely."

"That's a relief. Are we agreed then?"

"Agreed?"

He raised his eyebrows meaningfully. "No more baseless feelings of guilt or self-recrimination?"

She laughed. "You are incorrigible, Jon Bakuro."

He raised his eyebrows even higher. "Are we agreed?" he asked, more slowly and meaningfully.

Saché sighed and looked at him, eyes twinkling. Finally, she laughed. "Agreed," she said.

"Good. Now where the bloody blazes is our food? I'm starving."

"Jon, please don't swear."

"Sorry."

* * *

_Outside Rialdas, Naboo_

After only a handful of days in Rial, Richard knew he probably shouldn't have been enjoying himself as much as he was. At least not from the perspective that the role of ranch hand was supposed to break him from his comfort zone and teach him humility and appreciation and all that. And, truthfully, besides the picnic episode with Réka, he _had_ been working hard, and it had been a learning experience. His hands were recovering from some rather nasty blisters acquired over his first three days of work, and he had sore muscles in places he didn't know muscles could be. 

But now, sitting across from Réka in the Retisans' opulently furnished dining room, it was a little difficult to focus on these things. The family had been most insistent that he take his meals with them, and it hadn't taken much for him to give in, though it felt a little bit like cheating sometimes. Still, Réka's pretty smiles and coquettish eyes across the way were enough to drive away any hesitation. 

Perhaps it was a little bit silly of him, to be so completely infatuated by this girl after four days, but she was so graceful and well-spoken it was hard not to be. Of course, sometimes he had to make himself pay attention to the conversation.

Suddenly realizing that Lord Retisan had been trying to get his attention, Richard shook himself. "I'm sorry?" he asked, turning to face the man sheepishly.

"I was wondering what advancements you plan to make on Queen Amidala's Gungan policy when you take office, Your Majesty." If Lord Retisan was offended by Richard's inattentiveness, he gave no sign. 

"Oh," Richard said, blinking. His mind raced. "Well, um," he coughed slightly. Across the table, Réka covered her mouth with her napkin, eyes sparkling. "As I'm sure you're aware," Richard continued, "the biggest issue with the Gungans is still disputes over territory. Our two species are fairly well blended in population planetwide, so agreeing upon distinct boundaries can be difficult."

Rastan, Lord Resitan's youngest son, frowned. "I thought the Gungans all lived underwater. I've always been confused why there should be territorial disputes at all. They live below the surface, we live above it. How is that difficult?"

"It's true most Gungans prefer to live in the underwater cities," Richard agreed. "But there are some who prefer surface life. Not only that, but much of their culture and livelihood depends on resources only attainable on the surface." 

Just then, movement in large, arched doorway behind Réka caught Richard's eye. Yvenne Sorenst, the boss herself, walked around the corner from an adjoining hallway and paused uncertainly within. She was dressed in her usual garb—sensible white shirt and dusty brown leggings. Her hair was pulled away from her face and she looked very tired. As well she should, Richard realized. It hadn't taken much for him to realize that Marrus had been spot-on in his assessment of Yvenne. No one worked harder than she did. Richard was surprised to see her here. While he knew her position would necessitate a certain amount of interaction with the family, he certainly hadn't expected to see her at dinner. She looked terribly conspicuous.

Yvenne's gaze took in the people at the table, pausing curiously on Richard before resting on Lord Resitan. Resitan put down his fork with an expression of forced patience. "Yes, Yvenne?" he asked.

"Sir, Mirak is back," she said blandly.

Resitan stood up brusquely, his expression darkening. "Where was he?"

"I'm not certain, sir. I tried talking to him, but he—"

Her words were cut off by a loud crashing sound behind and she closed her eyes and winced. A moment later, Mirak Resitan emerged behind her, looking as though he'd done his best to be dressed for dinner, but had done so in the dark. He was obviously disheveled, most particularly his hair, which looked as though a _maati_ had tried playing with it.

Yvenne sighed, as if whatever she'd been going to say no longer needed explanation. 

"Mirak?" Resitan snapped. He was quite obviously annoyed. "Where have you been? You're almost an hour late."

Mirak snorted and laughed a little, and started for his unoccupied place at the table. "Father, if the prince wasn't here, you know you wouldn't care," he pointed out noncommittally. 

Resitan's face darkened and he took several brisk paces across the room, seized his son by the arm, and began marching him back towards the door. "Come with me," he ordered. He turned a humble expression back to Richard before departing. "My apologies, Your Highness," he said. Turning back around, he said to Yvenne, "You come too, Yvenne."

When they were gone, Richard tried desperately to think of something to say, but was still trying to puzzle out the strange and unexpected scene. After an awkward silence that lasted several moments, Réka spoke up. "My brother occasionally drinks a little too much," she said apologetically. 

"Yvenne was supposed to keep him from coming here if that happened," Rastan commented, sprinkling some seasoning on his fish.

"Looks to me like she didn't have much of a choice," Richard pointed out. Mirak had obviously been less than lucid, and probably not easy to control.

This did not seem to concern Rastan. "She has two dozen ranch hands she can get to help her," he said, looking up at Richard in surprise, as if this should have been obvious.

"Most of the hands are either with the herd or on downtime, Rastan," said the usually unforthcoming Arath. Rastan shrugged and turned his attention back to his plate. Arath caught Richard's eye and rolled his eyes slightly. Richard gave a quiet chuckle. Privately, he wondered why Yvenne Sorenst should have had to be concerned with the conduct of inebriated family members to begin with.

"So," said Réka brightly after another pause. "Are you planning to join us for the Firstfall festivities, Richard?" She turned an eager expression to Richard.

"Firstfall?" he repeated, surprised, and looked around at the other three faces. Réka stared back with a smile. "Yes," she said. "You know, Firstfall? As in, rather significant piece of Naboo history? The first Naberrie?" she added, laughing.

He blinked and laughed. "Right," he said. "Sorry. I guess I was just wondering how you have Firstfall without snow."

"The planet runs by Theed's calendar, Your Highness," Arath pointed out wryly.

Richard gave a big grin. "Right."

"In any case, we _never_ have snow," Réka added, picking up her glass and taking a sip. "So it makes little difference what time of year we celebrate it."

"I see. So, what do you do here for Firstfall, exactly?"

"Well, not much, but we're going to host a pretty big social in Rialdas that night. It's a masquerade dance. Very fun."

Richard smiled. "Well, assuming I'm invited, please allow me to escort you there, Miss Resitan."

She beamed. "I should like that very much," she said.

Richard returned the smile wholeheartedly.

* * *

_Theed, Naboo_

When Claria thought about the previous night, her hands still shook. Being up there on stage had been exhilarating, but she wasn't sure she wanted to do it again. It had been wonderful, though, safely wrapped in anonymity but expressing herself more freely than she ever had. It was like taking drugs, just once, and being forever bereft of its stimulation. But like taking some drug, it was a risk she couldn't take again.

She couldn't get it out of her mind, though perhaps that had something to do with the fact that Metz's hat was in her bag all the way through her classes the next day. She'd gotten home the previous night and realized that she had left with it. Immediately she'd regretted her hasty departure, as this meant that she _had_ to see him again. Of course, she didn't understand why that bothered her so much, aside from the fact that half the time she couldn't even remember his first name.

Walking through the corridors of the library, she sighed. She had to find him at some point and return that hat. It wouldn't do for him to arrive at the palace demanding an audience. There was only one place where she knew he would eventually go, so she left Bothey with her belongings and headed outside, down the steps to the Berkin memorial, hat in hand.

To her great disappointment, it seemed as though the debate group had not convened that day, and Claria's heart sank. Yet there was a figure settled on the steps below the monolith, and the Princess approached slowly. It was windy and cold, which explained why the students had not congregated, but the man on the step seemed to notice neither. Just from that, she was fairly certain that he was the man she was looking for.

"Hello," she said when she reached the step above him.

He looked up for a moment and looked back at the datapad. "Hi."

"I accidentally took this last night," Claria said, extending the hat to him as her words tumbled forth faster than her valadrett's notes.

He took it from her without words and continued in whatever he was doing. Claria frowned. There she was in the chilly autumn day, without a coat, and specifically there to return something to him after he had coaxed her into playing the previous night. The _least_ he could do was talk to her.

She turned to go back to the building, but he called after her. "So what was it like?"

"What?" she asked, stopping.

"Playing like that," he replied. "I didn't know you had it in you."

Had it not been for his tone, she might have been insulted. But instead of mocking, as he'd mostly done with her, he sounded genuinely curious. "I don't think I knew either," she answered in total honesty. "It was a little frightening."

"Your hands were shaking," he said. "Like they are now."

"It's cold," she replied, but she knew that he was right. She still trembled at the thought of everything she had expressed the night before.

Another minute passed in silence. "Do you want something, Princess?" he finally asked.

After a moment of deliberation, she asked, "What did you think?"

"Of your playing?" he clarified. Finally he put away his datapad and stood, leaning against the smooth stone wall. "Honestly, Princess, I thought it was the most amazing thing I've ever heard. Have you studied jazz formally?"

Claria shook her head. "My valadrett teacher doesn't approve," she said. "He doesn't think it's real music if you're making it up as you go."

"He's a fool," Metz replied. "Some of the greatest composers of the last millennium were little more than improvisationalists."

She nodded. "I know that, and so does he. But he prefers Nojjet and Dertakielev. The blood, sweat, and tears type."

Metz rolled his eyes. "You couldn't have mentioned two composers I despise more."

Claria smiled. "I'm not fond of them myself."

"Then why not change teachers?"

She sighed. "That's harder than you would think. I've been taking from this man since I was twelve."

Another awkward silence fell, and Claria wondered if she should be going. But before she moved, Metz said, "So does Versé hate me now?"

Surprised by his abrupt subject change, she laughed. "Hate's a strong word, Mr. Metz—"

"Ceidron."

"Ceidron," she repeated. "But I don't think you're on her list of friends right now."

He laughed too. "Then I'm glad my efforts last night weren't totally wasted."

"And by extension, Moteé probably isn't happy with you either," she added.

"Who's that?"

"My other handmaiden. She barely approves of me performing in the palace, so you can imagine her reaction to Versé's lurid tale."

Ceidron shook his head, smiling. "Will you be coming to the club tonight?"

"Probably not," she replied. "I have a recital here in a few days, and I really need to practice."

"Ah."

"Do you work tonight?" she asked, not knowing why she was so curious, nor why she continued to stand out there and talk as it got colder and colder.

"Yeah," he said, "but I'm not closing."

"I should get inside," Claria stated. "It's almost time for class to start."

"Yeah, and I have to get to work. I'll see you around."

Ceidron turned to the street, and the Princess back to the building behind her. There was something decidedly odd about that man, she decided. Last night he had been almost insulting to her. . . .but of course, she hadn't been _that_ polite to him at first. He infuriated her on many levels and probably took delight in that, but then, he also conversed with her more easily than any of the Naboo. Other men would have been petrified by her mere arrival, but he had actually ignored her for a while. And other men would have been quick to wrap her shivering shoulders with their coats, while the thought seemed never to have crossed his mind.

He was frustrating, but for some reason, Claria wanted to talk to him again sometime. Ceidron Metz was hardly charming and hardly a gentleman, but it seemed to be those very qualities—or lack thereof—which drew the Princess to him in the first place.

* * *

**Replies:**

**Kyae**- Hope you liked Ceidron and Claria's fresh new encounter. It's one of my favorites.

**Dragon Girl Revlis**- Refreshing in what respect, exactly? LOL Thanks for your review.

**Brooke Kenobi**- Thanks for all your fun reviews for _Dance With the Stars_! I'm glad to be an assistance in your time of need. I know too well the evils of homework and end-of-term craziness.

* * *

**A/N:** The passage of Claria playing the valadrett remains to this day probably my favorite thing Mely ever wrote. I'm thrilled beyond measure to finally get to share it with all of you.

The Naboo legend of Firstfall was borrowed from bWilhelmina's/b _The Snow Star_, one of my favorite SW fanfics of all time. You can find it at the TFN (the Force dot Net)'s Fanfic Archive. Take a moment to read it—it's not long. I think you'll enjoy. :)

Finally, the scene between Saché and Jon proves that you can have great inspiration for writing even when you're doing something as mundane as dishes. ;)

Until next time (when things start to simmer a little more hotly)! 

Saché 


	8. Something Fishy

**Chapter Eight**- _Something Fishy_

Serving tables was, in many ways, a touch and go way to earn a living. Things had been pretty slow over the past few months. Many times Ceidron had found himself with barely enough to pay his share of the rent on the small, two-bedroom flat he shared with Metti Berker. He could have found more lucrative work, of course, but he was decidedly attached to the club and the people there. The music was his escape from the stress of classes, and he didn't have the heart to give it up. So he simply found ways to scrape by.

Over recent days, however, his luck had improved slightly, mostly thanks to a mysterious guest who one night had played what many were calling the best valadrett Restanti Avenue had heard in years. Since the evening of Princess Elsinore's impromptu jazz premiere, the club had been packed every night, the guests eager for a repeat performance. She never came, but it was still thanks to her that Ceidron came home every night with weary feet and heavy pockets. He didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful.

Thinking of all the times he'd tried to promote the establishment on his own and failed, it stung a little to watch one of the almighty Naberries accomplish it without even realizing what she'd done. But even he had to admit that her status hadn't been the responsible party this time, much as he would've _liked_ it to be. That would have been less confusing. He couldn't blame the people for coming. He too wanted to listen again. The honesty in her song had shaken him, almost as much as it had clearly shaken her.

"You've sure been working late a lot lately," Metti said from the living room, almost the moment Ceidron walked in the door. He could hear the sound of the holovid news program, which seemed to be updating the status of Queen Amidala's recent offworld goodwill mission.

"That I have," Ceidron agreed, idly throwing the starter for his speeder on the table. His exhaustion seemed to draw him like a magnet to the other room, where he collapsed with a heavy sigh next to Metti on the sofa. "What a day. Does it always get cold so fast around here?"

Metti shrugged, and turned the volume down a little on the holo. "It's about average, I think. I grew up on a different part of the planet, so I'm probably not the most reliable judge."

Ceidron laid his head back against the stop of the sofa and closed his eyes, relaxing. "At home I lived much closer to the equator. This is definitely not my thing."

"Just wait till the snow flies, pal."

Ceidron opened his eyes again, and turned his head to study his friend with a strange expression. "Is everything okay?" he asked. Metti's last comment had seemed a good deal less lively than he was used to, even for this hour of the night.

"I'm just extra tired tonight. No biggie."

"Okay, man, just checking," Ceidron said, settling back down. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he wasn't about to pressure a grown man to say what was bothering him.

After a few minutes of staring at the news program and retaining nothing, Ceidron somehow clambered to his feet and into his room. He was so tired he didn't even bother changing clothes, but fell straight to sleep in the exact spot his body hit the bed. His dreams were almost as busy as his waking thoughts, full of factoids about Naboo botany, Thanos Berkin's stone face lecturing him about the evils of monarchy, and memories of his former life he never allowed himself to acknowledge in conscious thought. In and out of all of this wove haunting snippets of a valadrett's song.

The next morning was, fortunately, a chance to recuperate, as his first class wasn't until the afternoon, and he had the day completely off work for the first time in over a week. The sun was already well up in the sky when he finally shuffled into the kitchen, still wearing his crumpled clothes from the night before, and brushing the sleep out of his eyes. He desperately needed to shave.

Just as he was opening the cooling unit and retrieving the milk, he heard the sound of Metti coming through the front door. "Hey, man, you're finally up," his friend said, pulling off his coat and throwing across one of the kitchen chairs.

"If you want to call it that. How was class?"

"Absolutely unremarkable."

"What possessed you to sign up for Physique and Wellness, anyway?"

Metti shrugged. "It sounded important."

"Met, you can take _health_ class long before you reach secondary school."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Ceidron would have expected Metti to continue the jibing, but to his surprise, his friend's face became suddenly hesitant. "Hey, Cee, can I talk to you about something? I have a bit of a problem, and I wouldn't mind a little perspective."

Immediately sensing the seriousness of his friend's request, Ceidron dropped all thoughts of verbal sparring. "Sure. What's the deal?"

Metti sat down at the table. "It's about work, actually. A sort of ethical dilemma, if you will. I think my boss is involved in something."

Ceidron raised his eyebrows a little, and leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. "What makes you think so?"

"Random chance, oddly enough. At work I do a good job to be accurate, but everyone makes mistakes, right?"

"Right. You're saying you stumbled on this because you made a mistake?"

"Made, yes. And tried to correct."

"Tried?" Ceidron echoed.

"Part of my job is tallying the skid weights on our shipments. Customs on certain planets demand individual box counts, rather than a shipment total."

"So you have to weigh every box?"

"Exactly." Metti shifted a little in his seat, appearing slightly more at ease now that he was beginning to talk. "I am incredibly careful, you have no idea how stubborn customs departments can be."

"I can imagine," Ceidron commented, thinking back to the trouble he'd had getting certain of his personal effects off Commenor.

"Last week," Metti continued, "I don't know what I was thinking, perhaps it was that O-Chem test I had coming up... anyway, I forgot the last box, which threw the weight off significantly. It was on a shipment to Bimmissari too- they're one of the worst to deal with."

Wondering where this was going, Ceidron continued prompting. "So, you forgot a box, and the weights had already been counted, yes?"

Metti gave him a mildly approving look. "Right," he confirmed. "I weighed the box, and added it to the totals in my paperwork. Then I went to add it to the skid total in the shipment, and-" he paused, looking uncomfortable.

"What was it?" Ceidron asked.

"The weight total was off," Metti said, almost halfheartedly. He sighed. "Significantly off. It was too low by several hundred kilos. And the box count was wrong, too."

Ceidron gave a low whistle, as Metti's problem was suddenly beginning to come into focus. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't know what to do at first," Metti said. "I knew somebody must have changed it after I'd put in the original numbers, but very few people have access to those records. It's basic separation of duties. Me, for example, I'm not allowed to see copies of any consignee invoices that go with our shipments. Although since this has happened I've been itching to get my hands on a couple."

"Bakurcom is only a shipping company, though. Isn't it the consignee's business what they ship, anyway?"

"Well, to some extent, but we charge different rates for more hazardous items, for example, or for oversized product, particularly if it's not very dense. Shipping space is money. So we have to know some of what it is we ship."

"So what'd you do about the weird numbers? Change them back?"

"No, I was partly confused, partly nervous. Like I said, very few people have authority to change those records, and my supervisor is one of them. That thought did cross my mind, so I left it as it was, and took the extra box problem to him directly, as if I'd just discovered it."

"You were testing him," Ceidron observed.

"Exactly," Metti said again. "He assured me that it wasn't a big deal. He told me he'd take care of it himself, and not to worry about it." Metti snorted. "Filthy little shrike. I followed him when he took the box to add it to the skid. Then I watched him change the computer records. I _know_ he knew the right weights, because it was written on the paper I'd given him when I explained the problem. But when I went back to doublecheck, the total was still wrong, it'd just been adjusted up for the difference of the extra box."

"Yeah, very fishy," Ceidron agreed.

Metti gave him an odd look. "Fishy?" he repeated.

Ceidron smiled. "Sorry, Commenor phrase. Suspicious," he clarified.

"Ah."

"I am confused about one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"Okay, so he puts the wrong shipment in the computer. Aren't there any checkpoints or stations along the way where the skids would be reweighed?"

"Not as many as you'd think."

"And wouldn't the people on the other end notice that their shipments were too heavy?"

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Metti said with a knowing nod. "That's why I waited around a week. The shipment was delivered fine, with no problems. And I have since caught my boss adjusting weights on two other shipments."

"Sounds like he's got something going on with someone at the other end."

"I thought so too, except there's one problem."

"What's that?"

"The 'other end' is three different other ends so far. Three completely different planets." Metti gave a long, tense, worried sigh. "I don't know what to do now, Cee. I have no idea of knowing who's involved in this besides my boss. I don't want to lose my job, but I can't very well do _nothing_."

"What would you want to do?"

Metti laughed. "Ideally? Tell Jon Bakuro there's something _fishy_ going on in his shipping company. He'd set it straight, no doubts there."

Ceidron scratched his chin, and tried to remember what he'd learned about the high-profile leader of Bakurcom. The multi-million credit corporation was Bakuro's brain child, in an effort to establish stronger economic ties between Naboo and the rest of the galaxy.

This much Ceidron could admire, but he wasn't sure how he would like Bakuro in person. It seemed like every holotabloid these days had something about him in it. Rich, handsome, and single, Bakuro had acquired quite a reputation as a ladies' man, and with his noble connections, he had his pick of spoiled beauties. He was even rumored to have courted all three of the Naberrie women.

Suddenly Ceidron's fingers froze on his chin as an idea sprung to life inside his head. "What if you could?" he blurted out, before he could stop himself, almost immediately regretting them.

"What if I could what?" Metti asked.

Ceidron sighed. "Talk to Jon Bakuro."

Metti laughed. "Yeah, right. Good one, Cee."

Ceidron scowled. His friend had come to him with a serious problem, did he think he couldn't have a serious response? "I'm not kidding, Metti. I think I might have a way."

_Though why I think it has any good reason to succeed is beyond me. _

* * *

Since she had so ungraciously flaunted his beliefs in his face two days ago, Sabé had not really spoken much to Ben. She was suffering from a strange combination of lingering anger and deepening guilt. It wasn't _him_ she was angry at. In fact, it wasn't really any particular person, although she tried to blame Master Caine as much as possible. It was more her frustration. From any angle, the Jedi beliefs made no sense to her. Every time she made an attempt to understand Ben's point of view, an image of a heartsick Danae would flash before her eyes and the anger would flare up again.

As for the guilt, well, that was more personal than anything. She shouldn't have lost her temper, with Ben of all people, who was more patient than anyone she knew. Whatever their differences of philosophy, he was a good man, and she cared very much for his good opinion. At some point she was going to have to try and make amends.

Now she watched as the hatch opened before the small group of travelers to admit the heavy, damp air of Cliopa, Jenispra's capital city. The spaceport was much like those of Theed—a wide expanse of duracrete where ships were settled in a sporadic pattern, and shuttles wove in and out of them, carrying cargo and passengers to and from the administrative buildings in the distance.

Beyond that was the city, rather blurred by the oppressive humidity of the planet. The buildings were for the most part of a standard, blocky design, with little emphasis on aesthetics. Cliopa had sprung up around the pharmaceutical industry which made Jenispra so successful. Many medical miracles had been gleaned from its teeming jungles, which covered vast expanses of two of the planet's major continents. 

Sabé snuck a sidewise glance at Ben as together they started down the ramp towards the official-looking droid that was approaching. Behind them were Anakin, Master Caine, and Helaine— Dooji was remaining on board to help avoid attention. Gungans very rarely traveled off Naboo, so his presence might mark them with some rather undesirable attention. Ben seemed to notice her regard, for he glanced back and gave her a small smile and a nod. Sabé was surprised. Perhaps only she suffered awkwardness as a result of their conversation.

"Welcome to Jenispra," said the droid upon reaching them. "Records, please."

Wordlessly, Ben handed the droid a datacard, which the droid immediately slipped into a slot in his wrist. A moment later, holos of all their faces and fabricated identifications began flashing midair from a holo-projector in the droid's chest. "What is your purpose on Jenispra, Dag Tam?" he asked a moment later, using Ben's pseudonym. 

"Trade and leisure," Ben replied, sounding aloof and bored. Sabé repressed a smile. Their cover story was rather amusing, considering all their true identities. Ben was posing as an up-and-coming merchant— wealthy, condescending, pleasure-seeker. Anakin was his secretary, and kept tugging at his tight collar in a very annoyed manner. Helaine and Master Caine, dressed in sharply-cut jumpsuits behind them, his personal servants. And Sabé, well… it turned out that her rich wardrobe had been useful after all. She wore a sheer veil over half her face to help conceal it, and anyone with half a brain could have seen what role _she_ was supposed to play, especially from the way she hung behind Ben, very close but very diminutive.

When they'd cleared the customs check, they proceeded to their accommodations. There was something to be said for traveling with Jedi, that was certain. The Council had seen to it that they had plenty of resources to make their farce convincing, although Sabé had often thought their ship could have looked more the part. She was not in charge of the details of this mission, though, so she kept quiet. The rooms were rich and luxurious—a many-chambered suite complete with an office and full kitchen facilities. Sabé had her own room—small, but comfortable.

"So what's the first step?" she asked Ben after she'd finished a little unpacking. He was sitting on a recliner with a datapad on his knee, studying it intently.

"You and I will do some scouting," he said without looking up. "I want to try and get my foot into the trade of this thing. I need to plant some feelers—let the locals know I'm interested. If this planet is such a critical juncture in the traffic of glowquartz, there have got to be distributors aplenty, including some desperate enough for clientele that they won't care as much about any holes they might come across in our cover story." Here he looked up briefly and grinned. "Once we find a trail, we can start tracing it backwards."

"Hopefully find a sample and ultimately its connection to Naboo," Sabé concluded, nodding. "What do you need me for?" She watched him carefully as she asked, for she suspected she knew the answer, and it was funny to see his reaction.

"Well," he said carefully. "It'll be less suspicious if I look like all the other, uh… _clientele_ out there. With you there as my…" he paused.

"Consort," Sabé said, laughing a little.

The corners of Ben's mouth twitched slightly, and he deliberately did not meet her eyes. "Yes," he said confidently. "Yes, with you there, they'll accept me more readily."

"Don't worry, I won't let you down," Sabé said. At least she hoped she wouldn't. She'd seen a lot of holos about the kind of women she was supposed to be portraying. She only hoped they were more or less accurate. 

_It can't be much harder than politics._

Sabé turned to head back to her quarters, but paused and addressed him again, more softly. "Ben, I'm sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to be so judgmental."

He looked up, as if surprised. "Why should you apologize?" he asked. "You're not a Jedi—nobody expects you to understand us. Please, don't give it another moment's thought."

She was still not quite convinced, but Sabé gave a small nod as Anakin sauntered into the room. "Master Kenobi, I'm not sure I want to be a secretary on this mission," he insisted. His high collar was now completely unbuttoned and he looked pleading. "I'm not really the bureaucratic type. Isn't there anything else I can be?"

Ben's mouth was twitching again, and he was now focusing almost religiously on his datapad. "Well, what do you suggest, Anakin? I'd invite you to be my—" he glanced up at Sabé, eyes twinkling, "—consort," he went on, "but I think that might throw off some of the people who's attention I'm trying to garner."

Anakin paled slightly, and Sabé burst into a fit of giggles. "That's okay, Master," he muttered. "Secretary is fine."

Sabé, still laughing, turned to head back to her room. "Actually, Anakin," she heard Ben say, "there _is_ something I'll need you to help me with, and I think you'll take to it better…"

* * *

A day or two passed before Ceidron saw the Princess again, likely due to their schedules conflicting. But eventually he saw her at a data terminal. Taking a deep breath, he approached—

Only to be stopped by a short woman with dark hair. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you come any closer."

Ceidron had been so intent on reaching Elsinoré casually that he had not noticed the handmaiden Versé before he nearly ran into her. "Oh, it's you," he said. "I need to talk to the Princess."

"And I can't let you," she replied. "You do realize that you upset her the last time, right?"

"No, I didn't," he said, more calmly than he felt just then. "You weren't with her the last time I talked with her."

The handmaiden took it in stride. "At any rate, she has a recital tonight, so I won't have her disturbed."

Ceidron looked up just in time to catch the Princess' eye. She raised a brow. "Versé, is something wrong?" she asked.

The handmaiden held up her hand. "I can handle this, Princess," she replied.

Ceidron shot her a pleading look, the one that had won her over so easily that night at the club. Elsinoré wavered, then said, "Mr. Metz, if you can make it quick, I can talk with you for a few minutes."

He sidestepped the handmaiden despite her glare and stood very close to the Princess. "I have a favor to ask," he said.

The Princess picked up her bag and stood. "Not done anything illegal, have you?"

Reluctantly he held back the smart remark he would have liked to have made at that point. "No, as a matter of fact. But it involves something that may be illegal."

She met his eyes at last. "Walk with me, please." It wasn't exactly a command, but it wasn't a request either. Ceidron decided that it was probably best to acquiesce, and he followed her out, certain that Versé had her hand on her blaster as she followed them both.

Several minutes later, they arrived at double doors, tall and made of dark wood. Elsinoré looked over her shoulder at Versé. "I would like for you to remain outside," she said.

"Let me see your panic button," Versé replied.

The Princess pushed her sleeve back to reveal a bracelet. On it was a charm which had a red button on it. "Thank you," said the handmaiden. The Princess opened the door for herself and walked in. After catching a glare from Versé, Ceidron followed. He shut the door behind him, and then looked around the softly-lit room.

He found himself in an auditorium of some kind. The seats looked plush, and there was thick carpet beneath his feet. The high ceiling, which was sloped differently than the floor, was wooden, and the walls were angled away from each other. On the stage in front of him stood a clavaria, an instrument he'd neither seen nor heard in person, though he'd seen pictures and heard recordings of it before. "What are we doing here, Princess?" he asked.

"You sounded as though you wanted privacy," she replied, "and also that it would take more time than I had to spend there. I have a recital tonight, as I believe Versé informed you, and I need to test the instrument in the room."

"I thought you played the valadrett," he said.

She stepped up to the stage and began to pluck various strings on the instrument. "I do. Am I not allowed play more than one instrument?"

He shrugged. "I haven't known many musicians who played more than one well enough to perform as soloists."

The Princess sat on the stool at the instrument and pulled the clavaria to her shoulder. She began to play scales as she said, "So what kind of favor do you need, Ceidron?"

He ran his hand through his hair absently. "A friend of mine has found something suspicious, and you may have the connection we need to find out whether or not it's illegal."

The strumming, which had almost become hypnotic, stopped abruptly. "Yes?"

"He works in a warehouse here in Theed," Ceidron said. "He's found some suspicious anomalies in his paperwork, and he's fairly certain that his superior is messing around with some shipments."

The Princess did not look up, but moved from warmups into a piece Ceidron had heard once before. It was slow and deliberate, and lacked the fire of what she had played in the club. "I'm afraid I don't follow you," she replied. "What is the significance of this?"

"The recipients aren't complaining about these numbers being off," he replied, his eyes following her fingers on the strings of the instrument. They were moving so gracefully—Ceidron couldn't believe that she played another instrument that well.

"Hmm." That was all the response he got for at least five minutes. The Princess continued playing throughout that time, and memory began to build in Ceidron's mind. His mother had loved this instrument, though she herself had never played it. His only regret upon leaving Commenor was that he didn't get to take her clavaria recordings with her, but those had been destroyed nearly two decades ago, when his father—

No, he had to stay on track here, no matter how mesmerizing that bloody sound was. He cleared his throat. "Princess, the warehouse where Metti works is owned by Bakurcom. He wants to talk to Jon Bakuro."

Elsinoré looked at him sharply, and the music stopped. "Could he not do that from within the company?"

Ceidron shook his head. "Not without getting the attention of his superiors."

A look of intense concentration was on her face, though the fingers of one hand picked at strings absently. "How secure do you think this needs to be?" she asked.

"As secure as we could get." He settled in a chair near the stage. "I don't know what the magnitude of this problem is, so normal channels could be monitored."

She nodded. "It'll have to wait until I'm done here, Ceidron," she said. "And the most secure communication devices in Theed are at the palace."

Ceidron sighed. He'd figured as much. "All right." He cleared his throat. "What are you going to tell him?"

"Well, you assume that I can raise him at all. I'll probably only get his Coruscant office and have to have him call me back." She placed both hands back on the instrument, though she still looked at Ceidron down on the floor. "What should he be looking for, anyway?"

"Metti's got a list of the shipments that he wants to see more information for, to see if there's anything in common," he replied. "I should run home and get them from him."

Elsinoré smiled slightly. "Perhaps."

"How long will you be?"

"Half an hour, maybe a little longer."

Ceidron stood and nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He didn't wait to be dismissed, nor did the Princess try to dismiss him. Instead she turned her full attention to the instrument, and he was glad to be away from the sound.

* * *

The unabashed flirty nature of Yvenne's cousin Réka had always been a cause of great annoyance to her. Part of it had to do with the way she always seemed so smugly condescending of Yvenne's weatherworn clothes and sun burnt complexion. Sometimes it made Yvenne downright angry. She knew Réka was very beautiful; any fool could see that. But if she worked her tail off from dawn till dusk, in extreme weather, doing tasks usually done by a man, even _she_ couldn't possibly look lovely or delicate.

Aside from that, however, the flirtation very often became a flat out obstacle for Yvenne. Resitan Ranch, for all its finery, was very remote and very lonely, so Réka had quite the reputation of distracting the ranch hands. It had gotten to the point where Yvenne manufactured excuses to hire only hands that were older and even – she hated to confess it—ones that were ugly in order to minimize Réka's interference. 

The situation with Prince Richard, though, was twenty times worse than any ordinary ranch hand had ever been.

Not that Yvenne hadn't anticipated it. She knew her relatives very well, and did not underestimate their ambition. Since the day the arrangements for the Prince's tenure had been agreed upon, Réka had her father had been obsessed, their greedy eyes obviously on the Naberrie throne. It made Yvenne want to scream with frustration, especially when she noticed how quickly the prince had succumbed to Réka's big eyes and sweet smiles. 

Still, she kept her peace. Fortunately, the prince turned out to be a quick learner, so the time that might otherwise have been wasted training him wasn't as bad as she'd feared it would be. He was even learning to wake up early enough in the morning to get some breakfast and make sure his shirt was tucked in.

"So, what are we doing today?" he asked, yawning.

Yvenne couldn't help but smile at his very bad case of bed hair. "Saddle up," she said, tossing him a bridle from a hook on the wall beside her. "We're doing sensor checks to the south. We'll be gone all day."

He looked around the stable curiously. "Shouldn't we take lunch, or…?" he began.

"There are some trail bars in the saddle packs," she said, shrugging. "But we'll actually be having lunch with the research team at Lake Erana."

"Research team?" Richard asked, puzzled, as he began unwinding the bridle.

"Mmn. Yes. A government-funded scientific outpost. They're doing various sort of ecosystem-related research, but they're mostly focusing on the colo clawfish population." Yvenne opened the door of Leda's stall and petted the great cat's head affectionately. "Morning girl." She turned and called over her shoulder, "You can ride Brégo, Your Highness. He seems to like you well enough."

The morning sun was already dry and hot as they mounted the cats a little while later. Expertly balancing herself on the trotting beast with only her knees and thighs, Yvenne let go of her reins long enough to tie a bandana around her head to protect her fair complexion. No matter how much time she spent in the sun, she never seemed to adapt to it.

She noticed Richard's scrutiny of her riding at her side. To her satisfaction, he seemed impressed. "How long before you think I'll be able to do that?" he asked.

She shrugged and smiled. "Who knows? Depends on how much you ride. Also how well the cat you're riding knows you, and how well you trust each other."

"And you trust Leda a lot, I take it."

"Mmmn, yes," Yvenne replied, finally lowering her hands from the bandana and reached down to pat Leda affectionately. "Leda's my good girl."

"Yvenne, can I ask you a question?"

"Nobody's stopping you."

"The other day at dinner, when you came to warn Lord Resitan about Mirak…," he began.

Yvenne winced slightly, not really keen to dredge up that memory. "Yes, what about it?"

"I don't understand why you should have had to worry about what he was doing. It seems a little bit outside the expected responsibilities of a ranch manager. Come to think of it," he added, "You seem incredibly young for your job. Have you been doing this all your life?"

Yvenne turned to stare at him in surprise. Did he really not know? "You're very perceptive," she said.

He grinned. "Politician."

"Ah. Of course."

"So there's something more to your place here, isn't there?"

She nodded. Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't that surprising no one had told him. "Lord Resitan is my uncle," she said after a long pause, not sure how he would react to this news. 

Richard stared. "Your uncle?" he repeated, dumbly, looking very confused.

"Only by marriage," she went on to explain. "My mother and the late Lady Resitan were sisters. So I'm not exactly of the Resitan stock. After my mother died, though, they took me in, made a place for me. You're right. I've been doing this my whole life."

He seemed slightly scandalized. "But if you're part of the family—" he began, confused.

"Please," Yvenne said, cutting him off and giving him a smile, though from her end it felt rather forced. "I'm quite satisfied with my life, Your Highness." This wasn't strictly true, but the last thing she needed was for him to start questioning Lord Resitan about the nature of her role as a family member. That could make things significantly awkward for her. "You don't need to worry about anything untoward." That much, at least, was true. Her uncle had a begrudging appreciation for Yvenne's contributions to the ranch, and paid her fairly. He would never treat her like one of his own, but he was hardly under any legal obligation to do so.

To his credit, Prince Richard seemed to be willing to let the matter drop. They had a very industrious morning, getting over half of the scheduled sensors inspected before midday, during which Yvenne told him more about the research station, of which he seemed genuinely interested to know.

The rode along the northern lakeshore on their approach to the outpost, and as the buildings came in sight, Yvenne smiled to herself, remember fondly her last visit, and the amazed reactions of the scientists when she'd managed to calm down Nala. Yvenne had been looking forward to an opportunity to come back. These work the people did here fascinated her; it was so different from what she was familiar with.

"Yvenne!" greeted Lera Morrtenne from the doorway of the commons building when the arrived. Two of the other scientists stood behind her, waving as well. "I'm glad to see you made it. We were hoping none of your inspections would cause a delay."

"Seems luck is on my side today," Yvenne agreed, dismounting Leda and returning Lera's smile. "It's good to see you." She turned and nodded at Richard, who was also dismounting, though with significantly less grace than Yvenne. "Lera Morrtenne, I'd like you to meet Prince Richard Naberrie."

Lera had already been staring at the prince incredulously. "Well," she began, stammering slightly. "This is a surprise."

Yvenne laughed. "I know. I'm terrible. Your Highness, this is Professor Lera Morrtenne, chief researcher of this facility."

Richard gave a slight bow and smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said.

"Likewise, Your Highness," Lera replied. She still seemed slightly flabbergasted. She looked back at Yvenne. "Um, Yvenne, what…?" she trailed off, and looked back at Richard helplessly.

He laughed. "I can explain."

And he did. Quite efficiently and charmingly, in fact. So well that Yvenne merely followed placidly behind the group as they went into the cool, dark, low-ceilinged room and began preparing for lunch. By the time she'd finished washing her hands, Richard had already engaged Lera in an animated conversation about her cola research. Idly, Yvenne wondered if he was truly as interested in the subject as he seemed to be, or if it was just his inherently polite manners. Either way, she decided, it certainly seemed to be making Lera's day. Yvenne smiled.

"Oh, that reminds me, Yvenne," Lera said suddenly, turning to her after they'd taken their places and were handing around various dishes. Her face was inexplicably grim. "Do you remember that inexplicable population decrease I told you about last time you were here?"

Yvenne nodded. "I remember. What about it?"

Lera exchanged uneasy expressions with the man sitting next to her. "We're pretty sure we've discovered the cause." She did not sound happy.

Yvenne frowned. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Poachers," Lera said, sighing heavily.

"Poachers?" Richard looked up from his eggs to stare at Lera. "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure," Lera nodded. She looked back at Yvenne. "One of our underwater monitoring vids happened to get some footage of a submersible the other day. It wasn't one of ours—it wasn't even a kind we use." She winced. "It had what we think were some pretty heavy-duty customized weapons arrays."

"Why is that significant?" Yvenne asked.

"You know how large the colos are, ma'am," said Lera's assistant. "If you wanted to take one out, it would require some serious firepower."

"We tried to cross-reference the ship's specs with public records," Lera continued. "Unless we're overlooking something, it's not registered."

"Whoever these people are," the other man said, "they're well funded and they know what they're doing. We haven't found hide nor hair of the missing colos."

"Except they obviously haven't given much thought to your being here," Yvenne pointed out. "Did they think you wouldn't notice the decline in population?"

"I'm not sure they realize they're making that much of a dent," Lera said, her brow furrowed.

"What have you done about it?" Richard asked. His concern was quite clearly genuine this time.

"Well," said Lera, "at this point the discovery is so new there hasn't been much time to do _anything_ about it. But I have filed preliminary reports with the environmental protection bureau in Theed. Also, we're requesting permission to have as many of the colos tagged as we can, in an effort to catch these people in the act, if we can."

He nodded. "Seems smart," he said. Then he added, "My sister is away on a peace tour right now, offworld," he said. "She won't be back for several weeks, but I'll be sure to let her know about it when she comes back home. We can see about making sure your petitions don't get bogged down in red tape."

Lera seemed slightly abashed. "Highness, I don't want you to show any favoritism on our part," she said hesitantly.

"Professor, with all due respect, I took a couple of pretty high-level ecology classes at the University. I know how critical our underwater life is to the ecosystem. Particularly the large predators like the colo." His features were disturbed as he spoke.

Yvenne looked at him, feeling for the first time a genuine respect for his position as a ruler. She was glad to see he took it seriously, no matter how easily he fell for batting eyelashes on pretty girls. 

Lera smiled. "That would be greatly appreciated, Highness. Thank you."

"Not at all."

As Richard and Yvenne prepared to leave, Yvenne took a moment to pull Lera aside privately. "I suppose you don't have to worry about getting that grant _now_," she said with a smile, nodding at the prince, who was shaking hands and saying goodbyes to the other scientists.

Lera shook her head in amazement. "Probably not," she agreed. Then she grinned. "But I suppose I don't mind the means of getting it." She leaned in and added with a whisper and a twinkle of her eyes, "Particularly not when it's as handsome as _him_."

Yvenne stared at her in shock for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "Lera!" she exclaimed.

"Well," Lera said unapologetically. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed. Even _you_ haven't spent that much time around tusk-cats." She sighed and looked back at the prince. "If only I were fifteen years younger," she said, and tossed a wink in Yvenne's direction.

Yvenne only rolled her eyes. "I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Can't believe you're hearing what?" Richard asked, finishing his goodbyes and walking up to them.

Yvenne shook her head, still chuckling. "Nothing, Your Highness. Come on, let's get moving. We've still got a lot of work to do today."

* * *

**Replies:**

**Feather-of-Maat**- I hope your finals went well and your grades turned out well despite my interference. ;-) And yes, almost all of these characters are OC's, and many of them aren't even mine. It's a long and very friendship-building story. For several years now, **Melyanna** and **padawan lunetta** have sort of had this broad, expansive saga of the Naberrie/ Solo families with the AU twist. They had very vaguely sketched a backstory. I decided to take a stab at fleshing it out. Richard I, Claria, and Yvenne were little more than names who I gave personalities and stories. Jon and Ceidron are completely mine. It's been fun, despite the fact that my Star Wars enthusiasm has faded to almost nil. And yes, I love the Phantom of the Opera. I was very pleased with the movie.

**syd bristow**- I was rather fond of that line, myself. Thanks! :-)

**Ashley4**- I hope this update wasn't too long in coming for you. I also hope the Obi-Wan scene was up to your standards. You should like his next scene even better, methinks.

**shadowlessphantom**- Glad you finally checked us out! The story is coming along appallingly slow, but I'm satisfied with it nonetheless. Hope you stick around!

**Aikaze**- First of all, credit on the jazz scene must go to Mel, since she wrote it. Secondly, I'm so jealous that you play the cello. I play the violin, but I love the cello better. I agree with your feelings on that scene. I've always found it riveting.

**RivendellWriter**- Hehe, too lazy to review every chapter is perfectly understandable. Yes, I snitched the title from Phantom. It seemed to fit nicely. Thanks for reviewing!

**Brooke Kenobi**- Yes, Saché and Jon type relationships annoy me to no end. LOL

* * *

**A/N:**- I'd like to thank, in turn, R&L Carriers and the government of Venezuela, both of which I've had to work with in my various work tasks, and which were the RL inspiration for a lot of stuff Metti was blathering about. LOL

Since I'm doing a low-carb thing for a little while, good reviews will be my goodies! ;-)

Saché 


	9. Touch

**Chapter Nine** – _Touch_

Jenispra was more respectable a planet than many Obi-Wan had visited in his career. As such, attracting disreputable types was a more time-consuming and subtle business than on worlds better known for crime. The bar of the restaurant he was sitting in now was passably clean and not quite so dark as it could have been. The music was pleasant, and he'd spent the last hour talking quietly with Sabé. This might have been enjoyable if it hadn't been a performance, one which left him feeling uncomfortable more often than not.

Five days planetside, they had yet to attain any sort of contact of the variety Obi-Wan was interested in, but it had not been for lack of trying. He'd been carefully placing feelers—asking discreet, carefully-worded questions, showing off his credits, buttering up the authorities. He felt it couldn't be long before someone approached him. He'd tipped the host to give them this booth for the evening. Circular in shape, it was such that Obi-Wan and Sabé could sit on one side in full conspicuous view of anyone looking for them, yet anyone who should choose to join them would be adequately concealed on the opposite side.

He set down his glass nonchalantly and stroked the top of Sabé's hand where it was resting near his on the tabletop—a signal that he had spotted someone watching them. She entwined her fingers in his in response and leaned in closer, smiling. "That guy with the weed-whacked haircut, right?" she said lowly, adding a small laugh to her tone. To her credit, she did not _look_ in the direction of the man she was referring to. Anyone watching could assume she was telling Obi-Wan something very… private.

He met her eyes and gave her an appreciative smile. Out of the corner of her eye, he could see the man Sabé had noted set his drink down on the bar and swing a leg over his stool, causally dismounting. "Yes," Ben replied, still not averting his direct gaze from Sabé's face. "I think there's a lot to be said for experience in politics, Senator." 

She laughed, eyes twinkling, and he reached up to stroke her face, knowing they were most certainly being watched now. His gut wriggled in protest. There was something so _wrong_ about this. 

"Am I interrupting?" A shadow fell across their table. The man had finally made his way over.

Sabé's eyes glazed over and she continued to stare at Obi-Wan adoringly as he proceeded to play with the tendrils that framed her face. "You are," Obi-Wan said in a very annoyed voice, and did not bother looking at the man. "But considering all the trouble I've gone through, sit down."

After a moment, he lowered his hand and slowly turned away from Sabé, stretching his arms up atop the edge of the seat. Sabé leaned back and laid her head on his shoulder, assuming a stance of polite boredom. She stared at the stranger with disinterest. "Can I buy you a drink?" Obi-Wan asked, finally favoring their guest with his undivided attention.

He was short, and a little scruffy, like he wasn't used to bathing but had made a passable attempt. He wore clean but stained trousers in a sort of tan color, a pale yellow shirt and a dark brown vest that was clearly the nicest thing he owned. "Corellian brandy," he replied without hesitation. Lazily, Obi-Wan entered the man's order into the computer pad by his left hand. "I know some of the questions you've been asking," the man continued.

His over-eagerness was a definite plus. Obi-Wan had been hoping for someone green—someone who hadn't been in the game long and was likely to make a few slips. This gentleman seemed as though he might just fit the bill. "I ask all kinds of questions," he replied, taking a sip of his own drink. "Whichever ones you're interested in… you'll have to be a little more specific."

The man's eyes flicked to Sabé. "She isn't—" he began. "I mean, she won't—"

Obi-Wan gave him a tight smile. "She won't talk," he assured him. "She's rather _dependent_ on my company, if you know what I mean." He wondered if the man was bright enough to read into his words. Jenispra was very much within Republic borders—slavery wasn't practiced in the open, but there were still those who peddled in it.

The man seemed to catch his drift. His eyes glanced back at Sabé and he seemed to see her differently. She only continued to stare at him as though he were the most uninteresting thing she'd ever seen. 

_Maybe he is_, Obi-Wan acknowledged, laughing inwardly.

"Very well," said the man. "Name's Mirk. I'm involved in _up and coming_ trade."

This phrase was important. Obi-Wan had used almost these exact words when discussing business prospects with a rather shifty merchant a few days ago with Anakin. The fact that Mirk was using it now meant that all Obi-Wan's carefully planted seeds were indeed being cultivated correctly.

Presently, the waitress came and delivered Mirk's drink, half of which he guzzled down before she'd even managed to cross back to the bar. "Fascinating," Obi-Wan said, as though their conversation had suffered no interruption. "I, in turn, am interested in up the same." He nodded slowly.

The man seemed to relax even further. He set his drink down, scooted closer, and leaned his head in, speaking lowly. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to shake his head. Didn't the poor soul realize how obvious that made him? "I'll need to know what you have to offer," the man went on. "What makes you think we could work well together?"

"I'm a tradesman," Obi-Wan pointed out, as though this were obvious. "I have people and resources on many systems."

The man nodded knowingly. "You understand," he went on, "there are conditions. Personal use of the goods is strictly off-limits. Clouds things up, you see."

This was rich, coming from a man Obi-Wan was beginning to suspect indulged in the drug anytime he got a chance. His eyes were very wide and seemed to have trouble dilating. He'd been exhibiting a nervous twitch ever since he'd sat down. Obi-Wan did not point these things out, however. "Understandable," he said, nodding. He lazily brushed the backs of his fingers against Sabé's arm. "I have my own diversions," he assured the other man. "I only see the potential for profit and want to take my share."

By this time, poor Mirk seemed to think he'd found a truly kindred spirit. "Don't we all," he said, attempting a comraderic smile. When Obi-Wan did not reciprocate, he cleared his throat. "Right," he said. "I think I can help you. We can talk about it more… somewhere else." He reached into his back pocket and threw a tiny datachip onto the table with a handful of credits. "Thank you for the drink," he said, standing up suddenly. He did his best to saunter away.

Obi-Wan studied the coins and the data chip for a long time but did not touch them. When he sensed Mirk had left the restaurant, he signaled Anakin, who was waiting outside. He felt his Padawan's mental acknowledgement in return. He had the man. He would follow.

"A good night's work," Obi-Wan said softly, as Sabé wriggled back around to face him.

"You're a little scary like this, you know?" she said mischievously. "How'd you get so good at it?"

"I had a good teacher," said Obi-Wan wryly, finishing off his own drink. "You should have seen Master Qui-Gon do this kind of stuff. _He_ was really convincing."

"Did he have a consort too?" Sabé teased.

It took a good deal of concentration to keep from blushing. If anyone were still watching him, a blush would really discredit him. "Perhaps. I don't know. There were, I know, many women who would have volunteered." Both his master and his apprentice had and seemed to have an uncanny ability to attract members of the opposite sex, despite their usually prominent Jedi attire.

"Dag!" Sabé exclaimed, laughing softly. The use of his pseudonym was as much another tease as anything else. "So scandalous." She leaned in closer. "What would Master Yoda say?"

"What would Master _Caine_ say?" he added, knowing that despite passable tolerance, he might be acquiescing to his drink a little too readily. Sabé burst out laughing. "No, Master Yoda has never been in such a situation, I'm sure," Obi-Wan replied, trying not to smile at the mental image. "Are you ready to go? I think we've paid our dues to keeping up appearances by now."

"Ready when you are, oh undercover one."

"Right then, let's get going. Anakin can pick up the reigns for one night."

* * *

It had certainly been surprising to Claria when Ceidron Metz, of all people, had approached her with his bizarre request to contact Jon, but what had surprised her _more_ was how easily she had agreed to the request. Perhaps it was the fact that Ceidron Metz, who so heartily disapproved of any form of currying favor, had seemed to think it important enough to set aside his dignity in order to ask her. 

As she'd predicted, it hadn't been the easiest thing in the galaxy to reach Jon Bakuro. She left a message with his secretary, free of any form of detail, and then invited Ceidron to come to her evening concert, hoping against hope that Jon wouldn't call while she was away. The performance was met with heavy approval, as always, but after the events at Ceidron's café, the polite and formal response of the high-society audience left Claria feeling strangely hollow. Versé confided to her later in the evening that Ceidron had fidgeted through the entire performance. 

It was two days and several rounds of holo-tag before she finally got a hold of Jon, by which time she was quite certain the man's secretary was sick of seeing her face. 

"Are you sure this connection is secure?" asked Ceidron's friend, Metti, whom he'd dragged along for the interview. Metti seemed a little bit nervous, both about being in the palace, and with the prospect of talking to the head of the company. 

Standing near the door, Yané val Argon nodded her head with confidence. The veteran handmaiden had supervised technical security for Queen Amidala's entire tenure. Sometimes it was almost comical to see her working at it about the palace, giving orders to technicians, constantly examining walls and wiring, usually in her handmaiden gown, and on top of it all, performing all the regular functions of her position as handmaiden. 

Claria had long ago decided that Yané's skills were scary in their efficiency. One never would have thought by looking her—young, wide-eyed, and to anyone who knew her—rather spacey about anything besides her computers—that she was a walking effigy of paradoxes. Some of it could be seen in the skepticism evident in both Ceidron and Metti Flynn's faces.

Just then, the holopad flickered to life, and Jon's jaunty figure materialized before them. "Claria?" he called confusedly.

Smiling, she stepped around to where the recorders would pick her up. "Well, it's about time," she said teasingly. "Do you know that you're a very hard man to reach?"

In classic Jon style, he only grinned proudly. "As is any man of my standing, Princess." He sobered a bit. "Actually, I've been around more than you realize, you just have _really_ bad timing. What's going on?"

"I'm not the one that's going to explain it." Claria held out a hand and beckoned encouragingly to the still-nervous Metti. "This is Mister Flynn. He works in one of your shipping warehouses here in Theed."

Claria stepped aside and let the young man talk. After a couple of minutes, his confidence grew with his concern and indignation. As she listened to his story, something Ceidron hadn't gone into detail on, Claria began to share some of it. 

As for Ceidron, he'd hardly said two words since his and Metti's arrival. He stood to the side, in the shadows near Yané, studying the conversation politely, arms crossed, slightly tense. He didn't look entirely comfortable being here. 

"I'm sorry, sir, if this seems a trivial matter to bring to your direct attention," Metti said after he'd concluded with his evidence. "But Princess Elsinoré was kind enough to give us the opportunity."

"No, not at all," Jon said quietly. Even with the grainy quality of the holo, Claria could see his disappointment. He sighed. "My business will keep me on Coruscant for another couple of days. For now, lay low. Keep going about your business, and give no indication you're aware of this. Once I'm back home we'll decide how to proceed. Half of me wants to just up and fire him, but you're right. Who knows how far it goes. Maybe I can try and figure it out."

Out of the corner of her eye, Claria saw Ceidron Metz unfold his arms and take a concerned step forward, staring suspiciously at the holo of Jon. Whatever was on his mind, however, he didn't say.

"We have a little bit of data," Metti said, holding up the small datachip he'd been nervously fingering in his right hand. "What little I've been able to gather without being caught."

"That would be helpful," Jon said eagerly. He looked beyond Metti, and Claria wondered what he was looking at. "Claria, I assume you've got Yané with you?"

Claria gestured and Yané stepped up to join Metti on the holopad. "I'm here, Jon," she said proudly.

He grinned. "Wanna send his stuff to my office?" he asked. "And make sure nobody can read it except…" he paused. "Me and Sach," he concluded, looking over his shoulder. 

"Saché?" Yané repeated with a broad smile. Claria smiled too, although she couldn't imagine what in the Force Saché was doing with Jon.

Jon smiled and shrugged. "Yeah, she's here with me working on something," he said gesturing back behind him, where Saché was presumably standing. A moment later, her slight, graceful form joined him in the holo.

"Hello, Yané," she smiled. "It's good to see you. And rest assured we'll do our best to look into this, Mr. Flynn," she added sincerely to Metti. At this, Jon looked down at her and frowned a little.

"Let me talk to her," Claria requested softly. Metti and Yané stepped out of the way for her. "Sach, where's Sabé?" 

Instantly, Saché's smile vanished. "Sabé is… away," she said slowly. "I'd tell you why, but it's really a very long story. Jon and I are working on something to help her out."

Surprised and puzzled by this strange turn, Claria would have liked to press the handmaiden further, but Ceidron and Metti's presence in the room made her hold her tongue. It could very well be a personal matter, after all. "I see," she said at last. "Well, thank you for your help, Jon, Saché. We'll get that data sent to you. Let us know what you want done from there." She wondered oddly at her casual use of the word 'us'. Was she so blithely volunteering to help?

After the transmission was concluded, Claria stood dumbly on the deactivated holo-pad for a moment, wondering how to proceed. She supposed she should probably—

"Well," said Ceidron abruptly, unfolding him arms and launching himself away from the wall. "Thank you very much, Princess. We'll just show ourselves out."

Rolling her eyes, Claria opened her mouth to stop him, but was cut short.

"Wait," said Yané urgently, stepping forward with a forwardness she rarely exhibited unless… Claria bit back a groan. The light in her eyes was eager and almost feverish. Somehow, this situation had tapped into her hacker vein. Yané looked around at the group. "There is more we can do, you know." She looked eagerly at Metti now. "If you can somehow get me access to your warehouse and your computer systems for about…" here she paused and muddled something in her head for a moment "… twenty minutes, we can set up a sort of remote observatory and monitor what's going on from wherever we like."

"Yané…" Claria began.

"What?"

"Jon told them to lay low."

Yané rolled her eyes. "That's what I'm _telling_ you, Claria. This _would_ be laying low." She gave an imploring expression. "Please?"

Claria hesitated. A great many voices were screaming at her that such a course would not be wise, but it was terribly hard to say so when her friend looked so hopeful. Yané had been a bit bored of late.

As she still stood there, dumbly, Ceidron Metz stepped slowly and smugly around to peer at her face. "Don't tell me," he said, "that her high and mighty Princess Elsinoré is considering sidestepping proper bureaucratic procedures of justice."

Claria's cheeks flamed and she glared at him. Curses on the man, he'd just stabbed a pin straight into the heart of the issue. "Thank you for pointing that out, Mr. Metz," she said through gritted teeth. She looked back at Yané. "He's right," she confessed, though the words were exceptionally difficult to get out. "Besides, it's much too risky for my tastes."

"But—" Yané began again.

"Yané!" Claria chided loudly. "Actually," input Metti Flynn after a moment's strained silence, "I don't think setting up would be all that risky." He tried to sound confident, but his stance betrayed his nervousness. Whether he was nervous about what he was proposing or about doing so to Claria she was uncertain.

Claria and Ceidron rolled their eyes almost in synch. "Metti, what in blazes are you thinking?" Ceidron added.

Metti's features hardened. "I want to know what's going on, Cee," he said, glaring back at his friend unabashedly. "We wouldn't be doing anything untoward."

Ceidron looked over at Claria expectantly. "Yané's work is… more than reliable," she confessed. "He may well learn something of note."

Ceidron's shoulders slumped slightly and he looked perturbed. Then, to her utmost surprise, he gave a small, satisfied smile. "Well, it's good to know you're not infallible, at least," he pointed out, earning him another glare from Claria. He sighed. "If _we_ do this," he added, taking in all their faces, "then we're in it together." His gaze paused on Claria meaningfully. "All of us."

She raised her chin defiantly. "I'm not afraid to accept the consequences of my decisions, if that's what you're implying," she declared proudly.

He gazed at her another moment before nodding. "Good. Then let's do it."

* * *

Saché watched Jon in slight trepidation as he turned off the connection with Claria. He was very quiet and very still for a long moment. He looked pensive.

"Jon?" she finally asked hesitantly.

"It's all right, Sach," he said quietly, turning to look at her with a small smile. "I'm not heartbroken or depressed or manically angry or anything like that. Just a little disappointed, I guess."

"We'll get to the bottom of this," she insisted. She stepped over and put her hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We've got anything we want to know at our disposal about your people, including this lead from Claria's young man, right? It shouldn't be that hard to find something out."

Jon frowned. "Saché, I don't want _you_ involved in this."

"Jon, I want to help; this is important to me!"

"It's my problem."

"And you think that means I shouldn't care?" she countered challengingly.

He raised his eyebrows. "Some people wouldn't."

"Not all people. Not me."

"Okay, fine. But if it comes down to a decision to research covert crime ops in Bakurcom or numerically reorganize my datacards, I'm not sure which you'd be most anxious to accomplish. Are you sure you can handle that kind of pressure?"

Saché's only response was a roll of her eyes and a playful thump on Jon's shoulder.

* * *

Yvenne liked to get her inventory work done in the middle of the day, when very few people lingered around the stables; it went faster and she made fewer mistakes that way. Counting was tedious work, but since she'd started doing it once a week, it had virtually halted the problems they'd been having with the hands pilfering supplies.

Beside her, Prince Richard worked with equal industry. They hadn't been talking very much, as talking tended to interfere with trying to count, but occasionally the silence became too much for even Yvenne to bear.

"So," she asked casually, "Are you enjoying it here, Your Highness?"

"Here… at the ranch?" he asked, looking curiously over his shoulder.

"No, that mucky stall you're standing in. Yes, the ranch," she said, rolling her eyes with a smile.

He laughed. "Yes, I am," he replied. "I'd never been to the Rial district until a few weeks ago. It's quite a change from Theed or my family's lands, or even Naestral's Grove."

"Naestral's Grove?" Yvenne repeated. "Where is that?"

Richard began stacking several large cans of vitamins into neat rows so that he didn't miss any. "Far north of Keren, nearest to Oxon," he replied. "It is the seat of the Daris family, though they also own lands an hour outside of Theed. But Naestral's Grove is the largest farm on the planet—they grow plombs there."

"It sounds delightful," Yvenne said wistfully, walking into another stall to start her inventory of consumables. "I've not traveled much. Not even to Theed."

"I grew up there," he said, "but I've always enjoyed seeing new parts of the planet. That was the only part of campaigning I actually enjoyed."

"Why didn't you visit Rial?" she asked curiously. "I know we're not a heavily-populated district, but Rialdas is a fairly large city, is it not?"

He stood and nodded. "It is, but I wasn't overly concerned with support here. Rial has voted in favor the Troian line of the Naberrie family for a century. I was more active in the new Gungan districts, which my political opponents mostly ignored."

"So that's why the reports after the election all called Otoh Gunga the key factor in the decision."

"Exactly." The prince did a quick count of the rows of cans in his head and entered it into his data pad before proceeding. "I wish I _had_ come here during, though. It's just so different than every other part of Naboo I've ever seen."

"Do you miss Theed?"

"Sometimes." He leaned against one of the stall doors. "I suspect I'll miss it during Firstfall. I know you celebrate it here, but it can't be the same as the balls at home. And no snow…" He shook his head in amazement and then looked over at Yvenne. "Réka was telling me about a big masquerade ball next week up in Rialdas for Firstfall. Are you going?"

"Ah… no."

"Really?" Richard paused in his work and peered at her more closely, looking puzzled. "Why not?"

Yvenne shrugged. "I was something of a tomboy when I was younger, and now I run the ranch." She paused. "Besides, all the boys around here were always lined up for Réka." _Much the same as you are_, she added mentally. "It didn't seem worth the trouble." She tried to keep the hint of resentment from reflecting in her words.

"Do you mean to say you've _never_ been?" Richard stared at her in surprise. "No offense, but your excuse doesn't really fly. I can't believe there weren't plenty of guys who would've loved going with you. Besides that, you _can_ go to a party alone, you know. There's no law against it."

Despite herself, Yvenne found his surprise amusing. She smiled and decided to push him further. "True…" she said thoughtfully, "but I never learned to dance, so it seemed a bit silly to go."

"Never learned to dance!" he exclaimed. "Yvenne, in Theed that's just… just…"

"Just?" she prompted helpfully.

"Unheard of," he mumbled.

The look on his face caused her to laugh the hardest of all. "Well, you were the one who said Rial was different from Theed, Your Highness," she pointed out. Shaking her head, she turned to finish her work.

Richard was still frowning. "It shouldn't be as far as dancing is concerned," he said slowly, then looked back at Yvenne, a new light of excitement in his eyes. "Not if I can help it." 

Determinedly, he set his data pad down, then walked over to Yvenne and took hers from her hands as well. 

"Your Highness, what—?"

"I'm going to teach you to dance, boss," he said with a cheeky grin.

"But we don't—"

He held up a hand. "And don't tell me we don't have time. We've gotten this insanely boring inventory done faster every week."

Yvenne flushed, a little annoyed that he'd predicted what she was about to say so easily. She was just working up some other excuse when her thoughts were sidetracked by the sudden presence of the prince's right hand at her waist. She sighed. "Oh, very well," she said, and allowed him to take her free hand in his. 

_After all, it's not fair that Réka gets to enjoy_ all_ the handsome boys by herself,_ she argued internally.

Doing her best to mimic they way she'd seen other people dance, she placed her hand just below his shoulder, and he smiled at her. "Not quite," he said. He lowered the hand he held and released it, placing his hand instead just above her elbow and running it up her arm till he reached the muscle of her upper arm. "Like that. Just do what I did."

Yvenne did as she was told, then tried not to let her eyes bug. His muscles were very defined—_very_ defined—so it wasn't difficult to find the right spot to rest her hand. She coughed. "Now what?"

_Oh, get a grip on yourself, Yvenne Sorenst. It's just an arm._

Lera Morrtenne was a very bad influence.

"Now you follow my lead," the Prince replied. "I'm going to take a step forward with my left foot now." His eyes were encouraging.

He took the first step, and Yvenne stepped back with her right foot. "Now to my right, your left," he continued, and she was a second behind him in stepping to her left. "Step together. . . .Yvenne, you're a natural."

"Stop it," she scolded, looking down at her feet. "We've done three steps."

"Four, five, six," he said, leading her through the rest of a square. "Let's try that again, but look up at me."

"Why?" she asked, meeting his brown eyes as he led her through another simple box.

"Because a good dancer trusts her partner _not_ to step on her toes."

"Somehow I think your toes are the ones in danger of being stepped on."

"Hardly," he replied. "You're rather good at following my lead. It's girls who don't want to be led who step on their partners' toes."

Yvenne looked thoughtful. "Kind of like ranch hands who don't do as they're told who cause their supervisors the most problems?"

"I suppose…" he began, then looked wary. "What are you saying?"

She smiled. "I'm trying to say you've been doing a very good job here, Your Highness. I appreciate your hard work. I have to confess… I was a bit worried that a prince wouldn't know now to take instruction."

"My pleasure, boss," he grinned. "I'm glad to know I can still surprise people. Speaking of which…"

He made a sudden turn, bringing her along with him. "What was that for?" she asked.

"Boxes are boring, Yvenne, don't you think so? Turns make life so much more interesting."

"Ah, you're the romantic type who looks forward to the bend in the road," she commented as they turned again.

"And you're not?"

She shook her head, looking away but still keeping up with his easy steps and tempo. "I've never found anything new around those bends, my lord."

She thought that she'd said this without any wistfulness, but apparently she'd failed. The Prince tightened the hand which held hers. "I thought you said you were satisfied with your life," he said quietly, with gentle reprimand.

Yvenne flushed again, this time with embarrassment. "I'm at the mercy of a hereditary politician," she pointed out sardonically.

"Well, what is it that you want then?" he asked.

"To take a bend in the road and find something wholly new around the curve," she answered.

She looked back up at him to see him nod slowly. "Does this place confine you?"

Yvenne bit her lip, but kept her eyes on his. The dance was continuing to build in complexity, but she hardly noticed. "Your Highness asks such personal questions."

"Does it?"

When she didn't answer, he continued, "I see you highly respected by the employees here, Yvenne, but your own flesh and blood will barely make eye contact with you. Those who should love you most seem to give you nothing but contempt. Why?"

She tore her eyes away from him and stepped back, though she should have followed him to her right. "Thank you for the lesson," she said awkwardly, a warning in her voice. "But we really should get this done before the boys get back with the residents." She looked around at the mostly empty stalls meaningfully.

Richard pulled away from her, and seemed partly hurt, partly bewildered. "Sure thing," he said quietly. He gave her one more worried glance before resuming his work.

Yvenne picked up her own datapad once more, but her mind racing with everything that had just been said.

She wondered why she should even care if he found out— how her mother had left the family to become an actress in Kaserta and come back months later, broken in body and spirit and carrying a child whose paternity she would not confess. A month later, Yvenne was born and her mother died of complications. The servants and neighbors did not know this; the family had done an excellent job of covering it up from the outside. But within, they all knew it, and all cast her aside for it.

And Richard Naberrie would too, the moment he heard it.

Her common sense told her that he wasn't the sort to outcast someone merely for the mistakes of her parents, but her heart was terrified of potential rejection. Yvenne had always considered herself strong and self-sufficient, but the truth was that she kept herself solitary and safe because she was reluctant to give away her trust—to anyone. And yet she felt so at ease with this boy— this man— who would soon become her sovereign. He was quite literally the closest thing she'd ever had to a friend. How mystifying was that?

After their task was done, Yvenne dismissed the Prince for the afternoon, and headed indoors to get a shower. As she was drying off, she spend several long moments pondering her reflection in the mirror. Despite the rough edges, maybe she wasn't _too_ bad looking, she thought. 

Maybe she would go to the Firstfall dance after all. Wouldn't _that_ give her cousins a shock?

* * *

**Replies:**

**Aikaze**- Did I _say_ Ceidron and Metti found what Sabé's looking for? And your kudos have been passed on. :-)

**RivendellWriter**- (gasps) A muffin!! Actually, yesterday I got far enough to eat my first piece of lo-carb bread. Despite its… blandness, it was so delicious. And I'm sure my sanity has only survived thanks to sugar-free jello. But I have lost 7 pounds in fourteen days, how cool is that? (Realizes she is once again rambling about the diet). Anyway… thanks for the review.

* * *

**A/N:**- Ah…strange and confusing feelings abound all around, no? At least Jon and Saché have the comfort of _knowing_ their own minds, no matter how stupid they're being about it.

Until next time!

Saché 


	10. Duplicity

**Chapter Ten** – _Duplicity_

For some reason, it felt incredibly good to be back on the ship, even if it was only for a little while. Spending time undercover and doing all this playacting was starting to take its toll on Sabé, which surprised her a little. Certainly in her role as Senator she'd become accustomed to putting on false fronts and uttering niceties, but at least there she wasn't pretending to be someone else. At least on Coruscant she could revert to herself whenever she got home. Over the past few days, Ben had cultivated even more less-than-reputable contacts—some who were clearly smarter than others—and while he didn't think their apartment complex was being monitored, he didn't want to take the risk. As such, he'd called for a tactical meeting aboard their ship in the spaceport, to take stock of all they'd learned thus far and plan their next move.

There was another aspect of the undercover act that was starting to affect Sabé in a way she was most reluctant to acknowledge. Ever since the first night she'd posed as Ben's companion, she'd been thinking about him in increasingly alarming levels in ways that heretofore had been unexplored and forbidden territory. The way he'd held her hand, the strength of his arms, the smoothness of his voice… there was no denying that the man was incredibly attractive. Sabé was a little bit terrified, to be honest. Was she so very shallow?

It wasn't just his physical qualities, though. Sabé had met and even dated enough good-looking men to fill several ballrooms at Naboo palace. She had never been the type to blindly pursue a pretty face—although if the face were accompanied by a quick and engaging _wit_ she could usually be intrigued for a little while. Just look how long she'd been with Rory. But her superficial relationship with him had never been very serious and they both knew it.

No, Ben was different. The more she thought about it, the more she realized it, for all the good it did. He was wise, patient, and kind. He had his own brand of wit, to be sure, but it was subtler and less flashy than the kind she was used to. She always felt incredibly relaxed and safe with Ben. She could talk to him for hours about anything. Though she hadn't actually _seen_ him very much in her lifetime, she'd come to know him very well through their letters, and she trusted him more than almost anyone she knew, excepting perhaps Padmé. 

All of these realizations were simultaneously exciting and disarming. First of all, she was a little annoyed with herself for letting physical proximity affect her so much that _it_ had been the catalyst for this line of thought. Secondly, there was the inescapable fact that Ben was a Jedi. It was all an act to him. She knew this in her head. What did she expect? Secret kisses in hidden alcoves? A defiance of everything he'd been raised to believe? Ben wasn't a hypocrite. He was steadfast in his loyalty to the Jedi, and truth be told, if he'd been the type to flippantly disregard his beliefs on a whim she would not have respected him as much as she did.

In the end, Sabé was forced to put a heavy mental clamp on these thoughts. This was certainly easier said than done, but she was determined not to let a silly, unexpected flare of infatuation distract her from what needed to be done on this mission. She had a job to do, and there was no room for pining like an idiot over a man she could never have in a thousand years anyway.

It was good to see Dooji. She'd missed him—both for his company and for his refreshing, simple common sense. Dooji never seemed to be confused by anything. He knew what he wanted from life. He pursued his enthusiasms with passion and joy and a simple love of life. She fingered a small potted plant on the countertop in his lab; he'd taken it from his home in the swamps near Theed and carried it with him everywhere. Although perhaps it seemed out of place in a pot on a spaceship, it was obviously receiving liberal amounts of love and attention. Dooji was a talented biologist not just because he was smart, but because he cared so much.

The two of them were waiting on everybody else to show up. Anakin, Master Caine, and Helaine were still coming back from tasks they'd been on for the mission, and Ben would be along shortly. He'd stayed behind to do another quick sweep of their room for bugs. "So how have things been on board?" Sabé asked the Gungan, taking her favorite place in one of the stools by his worktable.

"Okeday," he said, nodding. "Quiet. Mesa wishin' yousa all pick it up some." Dooji laughed. 

"Ben says he hopes to have a sample for you very soon, Dooji," Sabé said. "Although he hasn't said _why_ he thinks so, but I'm sure he will."

"Yousa been keepin' outa da crunchin' Senator, ya?" he asked, peering at her concernedly. 

She smiled. "Yes, Dooji. We've all been careful. Anakin got in a little scuffle with some pickpockets, but that wasn't much of a problem."

"Not for dem bombad Jedi, no," he agreed.

From the small corridor beyond, the sounds of arguing men started drifting towards them. "Speaking of bombad Jedi…" Sabé muttered, turning to face the new arrivals.

"It's not that big of a deal, Master. I modified his memory a little bit. He'll have no idea it ever happened."

"That is not the point, padawan. You needn't have used your lightsaber in that situation at _all_."

"It was the most expedient way to handle the situation." 

Sabé tried not to stare as the two men paused outside the doorway. Behind them, little Helaine was making no such attempt, but watched them both amazedly with her large, violet-colored eyes. Behind _her_, Master Caine's lips were in danger of disappearing altogether. She glowered between Ben and Anakin, as if trying to decide which she disapproved of more.

"You mean it was the _laziest_ way," Ben retorted, glaring at the younger man, a deep scowl on his usually calm features. "And you can't be certain no one else saw you."

Anakin opened his mouth to attempt a response, but Ben had not yet finished. "And I'm not very fond of how casually you go around affecting memories at the flip of a coin, Anakin. Much better to prevent the need. It's dangerously skirting the line of the dark side."

It hadn't seemed likely Helaine's eyes could get any wider, but widen they did, till they looked ready to fall out of her head, and she looked at Anakin with a mixture of half-fear and horror. 

Anakin's next attempt to defend himself was cut short by a very stern glare from Ben. "We'll discuss this further later on," he said, a warning note in his voice.

"Yes, Master," Anakin said sullenly. 

Ben turned and finally stepped fully into Dooji's lab. Sabé made a poor attempt to look away, though any fool would know she couldn't possibly have been ignoring the argument. She cleared her throat awkwardly, and risked a sideways glance at Dooji, whose bulbous eyes were flitting around uncomfortably.

"Senator, Representative Bip," Ben acknowledged coolly and politely. 

"So what is our status?" Sabé asked, businesslike, as Lanelle Caine and her padawan also filed into the room. She managed to give the other Jedi Master a stiff, polite nod as well.

Ben, his hands now folded sagely beneath his cloak, turned to his apprentice. "Anakin," he prompted expectantly.

Anakin set his chin proudly, obviously still trying to manage his stung pride, but succeeded in assuming a level tone of his own. "We believe that the production of glowquartz takes place somewhere within the city, but we haven't discovered exactly where, yet. I've managed to keep tabs on three of Master Obi-Wan's new contacts— "

"Only three?" Sabé interrupted bluntly. It felt like she and Ben had interviewed at least a dozen of the unsavory types, and she hadn't even been with him for all of the interviews.

"Pardon me, milady, but some of these guys are to slick too risk our cover on. One is even a Gotal, and…" he trailed off.

"And someone of Anakin's force talent trying to follow him around would have given him a headache for six months," Ben supplied at Sabé's mystified look.

"Really?" Helaine asked, looking curious.

"The Gotal are marginally sensitive to the Force, as a species," Master Caine informed her matter-of-factly. 

"Then why didn't he recognize Master Obi-Wan as a Jedi?"

Sabé was glad she'd asked. She'd just been wondering the same thing.

"First of all," Ben explained, "my presence in the Force is not as flashy as Anakin's. Secondly, the moment I knew there was a Gotal in the room, even before I knew he was our contact, I did some light meditation exercises and did my best to dampen my presence. There are plenty of people that are moderately attuned to the Force wandering around the galaxy who have no training. In all likelihood, I seemed to the Gotal as one of these."

"I see," Helaine replied, nodding slowly. She glanced back at Anakin. "Why did Padawan Skywalker not try this technique?"

Sabé had been wondering _that_ too.

"Padawan Skywalker," Ben said stiffly, "is not keen on subtlety. Please continue, Anakin."

"Thank you, Master," Anakin replied, equally as formal in his address. "As I said, we have not yet been able to pinpoint the place of the drug's manufacturing. Cliopa, being the capital, is the largest city on the planet. However, our trail has _finally_ led us to what I'm fairly certain is a regular drop off spot."

"Where?" asked Master Caine.

It was Ben who answered. "A small recreational park on the northern side of the city. Fairly nondescript, in the middle of a residential area. Certainly the last place you'd expect to find drugs." He made an ironic face as he said these last words.

"A park?" Sabé echoed. "As in… families and children and… _children_?" she flustered, astonished.

Ben nodded grimly.

"Dassen' shamin'!" Dooji exclaimed, looking, if possible, even more horrified than Sabé.

"Nevertheless," Anakin pointed out, "it does give us a chance to get our hands on that sample we've been after."

Sabé frowned. "Ben, what about the information that… yellow-shirt guy gave us?"

"Mirk?" he replied, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Yes, him."

"Not very informative, I'm afraid. These people are obviously very patient and slow to trust. I think we're far more likely to have success with Anakin's trail. Speaking of families, Senator," he added, looking meaningfully at her, then around at all the rest of them, "we're going to have to adopt a new cover story for a day."

* * *

If Claria had thought the front room of Ceidron and Metti Berker's apartment was in need of a cleaning service, the kitchen was in need of detoxification. Versé would have died if she'd seen this place, so Claria was glad that the handmaiden had stayed in the front room.

As Yané had so confidently predicted, it hadn't been difficult for her to integrate her remote monitoring programs into Metti's workplace. Claria had thought it best not to ask too many questions about how this had been accomplished— she hadn't been in any way involved. Yet here she was, in Ceidron Metz's apartment, of all places, getting ready to review Yané's success along with everybody else.

Ceidron opened the cooling unit. "We don't really have much in the way of drinks here. Mostly water and some kind of juice that probably needs to be thrown out." He pulled out a colored bottle and sniffed its contents experimentally.

Claria shook her head. "Water's fine. Where are the glasses?"

He pointed at a cabinet to her left. "There," he said.

She opened the door, half-expecting to find a mess of dirty dishes behind it. However, while the dishes within were somewhat haphazardly placed, they were all clean. She glanced across them, spotted a few identical glasses on the top shelf. Liking their size best, she reached up for them, only to miss by a couple inches. Suddenly Ceidron's hand appeared over hers and grabbed the stack of glasses. "Careful there, shorty," he said. He sounded amused.

Claria didn't immediately reply, suddenly aware of how closely he was standing behind her, just out of the edge of her vision. There wasn't much space between him and the counter before her, and the unexpected intimacy was disarming. Most amazing of all was the strange but not unpleasant warmth that flushed over her.

She turned her head slightly to catch his eye. "Thanks," she said, offering a weak smile.

He stepped back and handed her the glasses. "No problem."

Still a little shaken, Claria set about pouring water for everybody out of a pitcher Ceidron had retrieved from the cooling unit. She was trying to think of something to say to fill the strange silence that had fallen.

Fortunately, she was spared the need as Ceidron spoke up. "So, can I ask you something?"

"Nobody's stopping you," she said, smiling a little.

"When we were sending that transmission, why was everybody calling you Claria?"

Claria paused in her work and blinked several times. It had never occurred to her that, in the middle of all this, she'd never told Ceidron about that. "It's my name," she replied at last. "My first name. Elsinoré is my middle name."

"And why would you go by your middle name?"

"I go by both." She handed the pitcher back to him, and he placed it back in the cooling unit. "To family and friends, I'm Claria. To the public I'm Elsinoré, my royal name. My sisters' royal names are Amidala and Vána, but very few people know their first names."

"Well," he said slowly, "if we're friends, do I get to call you Claria too?" He gave a rakish grin as she handed him a glass of water. "I get tired of calling you Princess all the time." He took a drink, then added, "And 'Elsinoré' is a bloody obnoxious mouthful."

Claria stared at him, her jaw slightly dropped. It was another of those moments when she had to remind herself that Ceidron was an off-worlder. No son of Naboo would have spoken thus of the Queen who had led the human colonization of the planet. Of course, as cynical as Ceidron often was about human relations with Gungans, it would not have surprised her if he already knew who Elsinoré was.

"It's an old tradition," she finally managed to say. "Originally instituted for the protection of royal ladies…" here she paused, and conveyed her amusement to him with a wry expression, "… which is why Richard has no such name, but my sisters and I all find that the distinction is useful. It helps us to separate our civic roles from our personal lives."

By the masked expression he wore, Claria wondered if Ceidron did not much approve of people having roles. He seemed more thoughtful than judgmental, though, so she did not press the issue.

Claria and the handmaidens did not stay very long. "We've got to get going," Claria said apologetically. "There's a Firstfall gala at the palace tonight. I'm the only member of the royal family in Theed, so…"

"But it's hardly after lunch," Ceidron said, looking at the chrono in confusion.

Versé looked at him incredulously and Yané giggled. Claria couldn't help but smile herself as Metti spoke up. "Um, Cee, exactly how much time have you spent with women?"

Claria cocked her head and studied the pair. "You guys can come, if you want," she said impulsively. "Last-minute invitation."

Ceidron raised his eyebrows and somehow managed to look disapproving. She wondered what the heck was bothering him _this_ time. "No thanks, Claria. It's Firstfall everywhere else, too. Work is going to be packed tonight."

It was very odd to hear him call her that.

Metti looked undecided for a moment, then shook his head. "I won't know anybody, my lady. I think I'd rather just go to my own party. Thank you very much, though. Very kind."

"Yes… so magnanimous," Ceidron muttered. 

Versé glared at him, but Claria schooled her features to something more neutral, even though she found his comment rather hurtful. "No big deal," she said calmly. "In any case, we really _do_ have to get going. I suppose we'll see you all tomorrow."

* * *

Yvenne probably looked more comfortable than she felt as she walked through the ballroom on her cousin's arm. She felt as though she needed a coat or something to cover herself up with. Not because of modesty, but because everyone in the room kept looking at her curiously, especially those who happened to know her. Arath patted her arm. "You look fine, Yvenne."

He'd assured her thus a dozen times already this evening. She had to confess she did feel very elegant, though in a much more subdued sense than all the other ladies. Her gown was a luminescent sheath of milky white that tied around her neck and left her arms and a good portion of her back bare. It flared very slightly at the hips, and the hem swished softly over her toes as she walked. She'd bought it this afternoon, using about a fourth of her savings in the process. More odd than the gown was the feel of her hair, which was turned up in delicate curls that bounced and brushed her neck every so often. Not having the weight of her customary braid on her back was almost disconcerting.

"Thanks, Arath," she finally said, giving him a grateful smile. "Everyone is avoiding us," she observed, looking around.

Her cousin did not immediately answer as he led her to a table. "Why don't you sit here," he said, "and I'll fight my way through that crowd to get you some punch."

Yvenne started to protest, but Arath was gone before she was able. Restless and feeling out of place, she stared at her fingernails, which were cut very short to keep them from getting in her way in her work. Réka, of course, had had her nails done that day, and they were beautiful.

She frowned, and flattened her palm on the tabletop for a moment, willing herself to stop making silly comparisons between herself and her cousin. She looked up, noted that the current dance had ended, and applauded disinterestedly.

And directly found herself making comparisons again. The ladies coming off the dance floor, laughing with their partners, had delicate, thin arms and soft hands. Yvenne's arms were muscular, and her hands were calloused from use. Her hair was too short and was the wrong color. She was tan; other women were fair. Her height was above the fashionable limit these days. All she had to do was look at her cousin and see exactly the kind of woman every man would desire—

"Yvenne."

An all-too-familiar voice startled her from her reverie. "Oh!" she cried, turning to see Prince Richard standing behind her. "Richard—um, I mean, Your Highness." Mortified, she bit her tongue. This foreign setting was very much upsetting her usual composure.

He held out his hand to her. "Might I have the honor of this dance?" he asked, smiling.

Yvenne blinked in surprise, staring at the hand he offered her. The answer was of course yes— one did not refuse a Prince when he asked— but it was certainly an unexpected development. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her uncle, Réka, and Rastan looking at her, puzzled and not exactly happy. Yvenne couldn't help it. She smirked ever so slightly. "Certainly," she said, and accepted the proffered hand.

She stood, and he led her to the dance floor. As he was Prince and therefore of the highest rank in the room, he led off all the dances in which he participated, with the other couples joining in after the first set of steps. Nervously she smoothed the white bodice of her gown when they reached the middle of the floor. "You do remember I've only ever done this once, right?" she managed to whisper before the music started.

He smiled. "You'll be fine," he assured her. He still held her hand, and as he bowed to her, she did her best to curtsey as she'd seen other ladies do over the course of her life. "You look beautiful, boss," he said, smiling, and they began to dance. The tune was neither slow nor fast, for which Yvenne was grateful. Richard pulled her to him, and she rested her hand on his arm as he had taught her.

Richard's lead was simple, as it had been the first time. Yvenne followed him well enough— although she still made an occasional mistake or two on the more difficult steps. Eventually, she resigned herself to just relax and enjoy it. She even found it within herself to laugh at her fumbles, surprised at how light and carefree she felt.

Apparently, everyone else was surprised as well. No one joined them on the floor, as they had when Richard had led Réka in the first dance. Instead it felt as if the whole planet were watching them, examining every step as their King-elect led an illegitimate, glorified stable-girl in a dance at Firstfall. Yet in that moment, she felt as worthy of recognition as her cousin, perhaps more so. She felt as if her birth did not matter, as if she were as royal as he. Perhaps, in that moment, she was.

For his part, the Prince seemed to be conscious only of the music and his partner. Even though they didn't talk, she got the feeling he was having as much fun as she was. He had been engaging and charming with Réka, conversing constantly, but now he was silent, his only communication through his eyes, which brimmed with merriment.

Some immeasurable time later, the music stopped.

For half a heartbeat, Yvenne thought they might continue dancing, despite the silence. There was an awkward moment in which she could not tell what she should do. Nor did he, for he continued to hold her in a dancer's embrace, and for a fleeting instant, she thought that he pulled her a little closer. She stiffened in horror, not knowing how to react. It seemed to break the Prince's trance, for he released her immediately and kissed her hand. He smiled broadly. "You were fantastic," he said lowly, so that only she could hear. 

Richard led her from the floor, and murmurs began. Her euphoria subsiding, Yvenne gradually began to feel self-conscious. No word was spoken as he accompanied her back to the table where Arath had left her, but he bowed formally when she'd retaken her seat and gave her a very sincere thanks. When he was gone, she would have returned to her absolute confusion, but then Arath appeared again.

"Having fun?" he asked, teasing. He handed her a cup of punch.

She blinked several times. "Arath, I think that may have been the strangest moment of my life." Her eyes followed Richard as he made his way back to Réka, and something unpleasant weighed in her stomach.

Arath laughed. "I didn't know you could dance."

"He taught me," she replied offhandedly "—sort of. If you really want to call it dancing," she added wryly, forcing herself to turn away from watching the prince.

"Well, it wasn't perfect," he conceded, eyes twinkling. She stuck her tongue out at him. "But it was real," he added thoughtfully, serious now, eyeing her thoughtfully. "And you were radiant."

As she took a sip of punch, a young man approached. She recognized him—she'd often bought supplies from his father in Rialdas.

Arath turned to him. "Can I help you?"

The young man shook his head as the music began again and looked to Yvenne. "I was wondering if Miss Sorenst might wish to dance."

Her gaze darted to Arath, whose eyebrows were raised in amusement. "Certainly," she said, more sure in voice than she was in mind. With a smile for her cousin, she let her new partner lead her back to the dance.

Richard had broken the ice. Perhaps that had been his intent— she couldn't be sure. While she very much enjoyed herself the rest of the evening, she couldn't help but feel restless as it concluded. Yvenne Sorenst had always taken strength in her self-assuredness. The fact that a charming prince with beautiful brown eyes was beginning to get under her skin was a frightening and wonderful thing. And she hadn't the least idea what to do about it.

* * *

"Ben, how is it you and I won't be recognized if we meet any of our 'friends' here?"

The Jedi looked over from the outdoor table where he and Master Caine were sitting a few feet away, eating the picnic they'd brought and keeping a casual eye on their surroundings. "I put a very small Force illusion on both our faces," he said calmly.

Sabé blinked. "Really?" She glanced over at Helaine sitting on the swing next to hers. "Do I look different?" she asked the girl curiously.

Helaine giggled. "No," she said.

"Release your hold on the Force, Helaine," Master Caine instructed, "put yourself _outside_ the Force energy surrounding the senator."

The girl licked her lips and glanced at her master uncertainly. Then she closed her eyes, took a very deep, slow breath, and concentrated. When she opened her eyes again she looked at Sabé again and gave a small sound of surprise. "Oh!"

"What?"

"Well..." the girl cocked her head and peered at Sabé curiously. "You can still tell it's you, if you really pay attention, but your hair is lighter, and... you look a lot younger. A couple of years older than me, maybe." Then she looked at Ben and giggled. "And Master Obi-Wan looks _old_."

"Not old, thank you very much," Ben laughed. "Just older."

"It makes sense," Sabé reflected. "If you're supposed to be my father. I'd need to be somewhat younger and you somewhat older. To be my father at my real age, you'd have to be... _really_ old," she added, teasing.

Ben cocked an eyebrow. "You think this is funny, do you?"

Sabé grinned, kicking her feet lightly against the ground beneath her to push the swing slightly. "Maybe a little."

Ben merely turned attention back to his ritchets with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, causing Sabé to become very suspicious. "What are you up to?" she asked warily.

He shrugged, but the twinkle did not diminish, nor could he prevent a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth.

A moment later, Helaine did her best to let out a warning cry. "Look out, he's going to!"

But she was all too late. Sabé let out a shriek of surprise as her swing suddenly jerked forward of its own accord, nearly dumping her on to the rich black patch of bare soil beneath her feat. She clung to the sides of it and starting giggling hysterically, drawing the attention of a couple nearby children, who only finding a silly laughing girl, resumed their play without comment. Helaine was laughing too, and Ben chuckling. Master Caine only shook her head exasperatedly and said nothing.

Sabé tossed her hair and began swinging in earnest, deciding that this had been the best day of the mission so far. The afternoon sunshine was glorious, and the heavy, fertile jungle soil all around smelt wholesome and healthy. A breeze lessened the edge of the heat, and Sabé took a deep breath of satisfaction. She found it hard to believe they were possibly within a hairsbreadth of an evil threat to the people of the galaxy. If the people who were dropping off the glowquartz ever decided to show up.

Sabé noticed that the swinging didn't seem so hard as it normally would have, particularly on this higher-gravity planet. Mostly, she was just sticking her legs out for show. It didn't take her long to realize that she was being gently and carefully rocked, and she glanced sideways at Ben. He made a sideways glance of his own and gave her a small, secret smile that made her stomach sort of flip-flop on itself. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the warmth of a touchless embrace. 

When he released her, it was gradually, but enough that she opened her eyes, curious about what, had made him cease, for she hadn't exactly been ready for him to do so.

"Don't stop," said Helaine, looking over at her with a smile. "It's time to play."

Puzzled, Sabé peered more closely at her, picking up on a subtle message in the girl's words. Still smiling, Helaine glanced briefly to the other end of the park, then pumped her own legs harder with a laugh and began swinging with all her might. Sabé followed suit, looking as nonchalantly as possible in the direction the girl had indicated.

The... person certainly didn't look like Sabé's idea of a drug dealer. A friendly-looking, tall alien of a species she'd never before encountered, the woman (for Sabé guessed she was female) was inspecting a trash receptacle on the edge of the playground. Sabé supposed that the only thing that really made her stick out was that she was the only person around who was not accompanied by a child.

Sabé looked over at Ben and Master Caine, who were talking lightly and still sharing the picnic, giving no indication that their attention was probably entirely focused on this newcomer. 

_Yes, we're just a nice, happy, Jenispran family,_ Sabé reminded herself inwardly. She was glad, at least, that Jedi traditions had prevented Lanelle Caine from ever _really_ becoming someone's mother.

It wasn't peculiar that the stranger needed to study the trash receptacle, for it was really more of a trash station than a receptacle. Brightly colored and compartmentalized, it was designed to encourage children to recycle various kinds of material. The alien opened a large bag from her shoulder and began sorting through a bunch of junk inside it, throwing certain things into certain bins. When she was finished, she walked nonchalantly down the street the way she'd apparently come.

"Well, that was quick," Sabé muttered, and slowed her swinging. 

Ben made them wait a full ten minutes after the alien had disappeared from sight, during which time Sabé picked at what remained of the picnic. She was starting to get hungry again, and was eagerly thinking of a hot dinner back in their rooms. At long last, she, Ben, and Master Caine gathered up their own trash and headed over, Helaine following along placidly behind. Ben did his best not to be too obvious about rummaging around in the three or four bins the alien had frequented, and was quick to pull out a small, beat-up cube of duraplast, that looked to be a disposable container of some kind but was clearly much too heavy to be empty. Wordlessly, he handed it to Master Caine and waited expectantly.

"This is it," she replied a moment later, with full certainty. 

Ben opened the case, which held a smaller, much nicer black case, tightly closed. He pocketed this, replaced it with a heavy stone, and put the red case back where they'd found it. All the while, Helaine and her master carefully used the Force to divert the attention of anybody who happened to notice this strange little ritual. This was somewhat disturbing for Sabé to watch, but it was still nice to know that nobody would likely think their behavior odd and ask unwanted questions.

A couple of hours later, Sabé, Ben, and Dooji studied the small black case warily, where it sat looking innocent on Dooji's lab counter. "It's smaller than I thought it'd be," Sabé finally concluded.

"Their system is actually quite ingenious," Ben said. "From what Anakin's told me, there's a sort of sub-society of homeless in that part of Cliopa... harmless to the citizens, but they stake claim on these trash receptacles and go about picking them clean of anything they think of value before the trash is disposed of."

"Da busters fakin' dat deysa dese homeless..." Dooji nodded, realizing what Ben was alluding to.

Ben nodded, "And nobody thinks oddly of them for picking through trash." He shook his head.

"It's a good thing we didn't wait long, then," Sabé said. "They probably time these dropoffs and pickups pretty closely. Otherwise, some unsuspecting hobo is going to wander off with their precious goods. Ben why did you have Master Caine confirm it was glowquartz? I mean, how was she to know, without even opening it."

"Her danger sense is much stronger than mine," Ben said. He gestured to their prize. "If this isn't the glowquartz, then I can't imagine what else would have triggered such a sure response in Master Caine when she held it."

"Well," said Sabé, giving a sigh and eyeing the case once more with distaste. "Let's find out."

* * *

**Replies:**

**Ashley4**- I'm happy I'm updating, too. LOL. It's going slowly, and I'm juggling several stories simultaneously, but at least it's going. And I'm thrilled my Jonas/OC 'fic caught your eye. Please let me know if you read it! I'm actually in the middle of a rewrite right now.

**RivendellWriter**- Stupid, yes… but love is blind in many different ways. They'll come around. LOL

**Aikaze**- I hope the plot isn't moving along too quickly for y'all. But I'm not overly fond of stories that drag—either writing or reading them— so it's all good.

**Dead-Girls-Watch**- Thank you! Hope you continue to enjoy!

* * *

**A/N:**Moving right along!

Until next time, I just adore reviews, as always. ;)

Saché 


	11. Eavesdropping

**Chapter Eleven** – _Eavesdropping_

The day after Firstfall, Richard, Yvenne, and a couple of other ranch hands were put hard to work unloading a large shipment of supplies—mostly feed—that Lord Resitan had used the opportunity to bring home from a warehouse in Rialdas the previous day. They spent the better part of the morning in the supply shed, unloading, stacking, and organizing. It was very physical labor, but gave Richard time to reflect with fondness on his myriad of good memories from the previous evening.

Réka had been breathtakingly beautiful, and so charming and fragrant as he'd held her for each dance. Before the night had ended, he'd finally taken an opportunity to kiss her, and she hadn't disappointed. 

Also pleasant to remember had been that very strange dance with Yvenne, which had been a perplexing mix of otherworldliness and downright fun. Richard had attended enough such social gatherings to know that his boss was likely going to be more the subject of local gossips than any of the established debutants. He knew this was partly his influence, singling her out like he had, but he also knew she mostly owed it to herself. Even he'd been surprised by how striking she'd looked. There was a pure, stark, and elegant beauty in her appearance and carriage that had seemed so appropriate for Yvenne and somehow made the other women seem momentarily gaudy and flamboyant.

To his surprise, she hadn't seemed inclined to discuss the event, as every other woman he'd ever met—especially his sisters. Instead, she'd been uncharacteristically closed all morning— polite, but distant. She seemed distracted about something; he wasn't sure what.

Richard was just heaving the last bag of feed into place when there were frantic footsteps coming from the direction of the stables.

Yvenne turned to face Torak as he rushed breathless into the shed. "What's going on?" she asked before he could speak, straightening and brushing her braid back over her shoulder. 

"It's Néna, boss. She's in labor."

"Finally," Yvenne breathed. "When did it start?"

"Well, we just found her, so I can't be sure, but I don't think very long ago," he replied truthfully. "She's hardly done anything. We only know she's in labor because her water broke."

Yvenne had become a picture of practiced confidence. When she spoke, her voice was calm and commanding. "Your Highness, you're with me," she said to Richard. Then she added to Torak, "You too, Torak, but first find Marrus and bring him with you. He's got the best experience for this kind of thing."

"What do you need from me, Yvenne?" Richard asked when they reached the stable. Yvenne was almost instantly at Néna's stall.

"I need a basin of clean water," she said. "A large one. Some antiseptic, and a bunch of clean cloths, as many as you can find. They're all in the first aid cabinet over there." By the time he returned with the supplies, Torak and Marrus had joined them, and Yvenne had dismissed everyone else, declaring they didn't need an audience. She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it at Richard. "Do something with that," she said.

It was clear that the other three knew what they were doing, but the further the labor progressed, the more Richard became aware that they weren't pleased.

"What's wrong?" he finally asked.

"We think the one of the _maatis_' heads is back," Yvenne replied. She had begun washing her arm liberally in the antiseptic. "I'm going to have to check."

"And what does that entail?"

"Honestly, Your Highness, how can anyone be that ignorant of how nature works?" She turned to the hand. "Marrus, can you hold her head down while I do this?"

Marrus scrambled over to his new position, and Richard stood there, feeling somewhat useless for the first time in his life. Yvenne, in the meantime, stretched out prostrate on the floor and did the unthinkable, reaching up into the cat as if it were the most natural thing in the galaxy to do. Néna seemed to object to this treatment, however, by snarling and flashing angry teeth at Marrus as Yvenne probed. Torak was swift to join the other man in restraining her. "Richard," Yvenne said through gritted teeth, "could you please help?"

"Hold her around the middle," Torak added, nodding firmly at the rest of Néna between himself and Yvenne.

Immediately Richard stepped over and tried to find a place that seemed convenient for carrying out this task, but found that it just did not exist. By the time he'd decided the most effective thing was just to grab and hang on, Yvenne seemed to have finished her examination.

Her arm was bloody when she pulled it out. "The head's back," she nodded breathlessly, "instead of on its front legs. I'm going to have to turn it."

Richard decided at that this was a good moment to object. "Yvenne, shouldn't you call for a professional?" He didn't particularly want to witness Néna ripping off one of Yvenne's limbs.

"There's no time," Yvenne insisted. "If we wait, Néna dies, and probably both of the _maati_ along with her."

"She's right," Torak informed Richard. He looked at Yvenne. "Let me do it, though, boss."

She shook her head. "No, my hands are smaller; it'll be easier for me to move around in there. And you three are best suited to hold her down."

There was little the men could do to argue with this logic. Richard was forced to acknowledge that it probably was the safest course. "Do you know what you're doing?" he asked.

She hesitated. "In theory," she said, looking away from him as she cleaned her arm again. The blood didn't want to come off—it was thick and reeked of something foul. It was hardly recognizable as blood, which worried him. "I've not seen it or done it myself, but I know _how_ to do it." She turned back Néna, who was making a low growling noise that bothered Richard considerably.

Yvenne had finished cleaning now, and looked at Richard squarely. "Rope," she ordered. He retrieved a length of strong, thin rope from the stable wall and handed it to her. Taking it from him, she expertly tied a wide slipknot in it and held it loosely between thumb and forefinger as she lay down again and reached into the now-struggling tusk-cat.

Richard made sure not to hesitate in helping his coworkers this time, holding as firmly as he could around Néna's midsection, almost lying on top of her at a perpendicular angle. It was harder than it looked, especially as he wanted to devote his focus to what Yvenne was doing.

Despite Richard's concern, it _was_ fascinating. It seemed strange somehow that the tusk-cats had lived as wild animals for centuries, and would have died in a situation like this. There was a thrill to the moment, despite the fact that Yvenne was having a hard time, and that each time she withdrew her arm was bloodier than the previous.

Her arm in the cat almost up to her shoulder, she struggled to reach a little farther in. Suddenly she cried out. "Ouch!" This was followed by a lowly-voiced profanity that surprised Richard so much it was almost comical.

"What?" Marrus demanded.

"The little brute bit me," she mumbled, retracting her arm once more. "But I got the rope on its jaw."

"Couldn't it bite through?" Richard asked.

"That's why I have to work fast," she answered, furiously scrubbing away at the bloody substance coating her arm. This time she just poured the antiseptic directly instead of trying to clean the water. It was probably something of a hopeless cause by that point. She had her arm back inside the tusk-cat a few moments later, and Richard watched, transfixed, as she pulled on the rope with her free hand. "Just a little more," she breathed. "Just a little more."

With a groan, she dropped the rope. "Marrus, clean water," she ordered. The ranch hand gone, she began very slowly to withdraw her arm again. "That's it, nice and easy," she said. Richard held his breath as he watched the infant emerge from its mother's womb into Yvenne's arms. It seemed so small for the trouble they had gone through to bring it safely into the afternoon sunshine. "Hello, little one," Yvenne breathed, apparently having forgiven the 'little brute' for biting her. She pulled the rope from its mouth. "Aren't you a little bundle of trouble?"

"Okay," she said, placing the creature carefully in one of the cloths Richard had fetched at the beginning. She wrapped it loosely around the _maati_. "The other one's positioned fine, but it's coming. Your Highness?"

"Yes?"

"Here, hold this guy," Yvenne instructed. "You can let her go now," she added at his hesitation. "Hurry, I need my hands free!"

He was quick to comply then, accepting the bundle gingerly. It was warm and wet and heavy, and didn't exactly smell very good, but he didn't care.

The birth of the second _maati_ was almost dull in comparison to the frenzied anxiety of the first. Yvenne and Marrus, when he returned, seemed mostly to just look on as Néna dropped the infant with the ease nature had designed. Afterward, Néna took the little ones away, carrying them one by one in her mouth as gently as any human mother, almost snobbish in they way she ignored the humans.

Yvenne took a moment to catch her breath, propped up on her elbows on the muddy stable ground. It was a strangely fetching sight: her red hair matted in her face, her white shirt caked with mud, and her arms covered with the nasty bloody mucus. There was dirt on her face too, and blood from where she'd reached up to push hair from her face. Yet there was a picture of womanly strength sprawled in that mess of a girl almost lying on the ground. Almost without knowing it, Richard smiled.

Standing up, he offered her his hand. "I think you need a bath," he said pointedly.

She placed her hand in his and let him pull her up. "I think I should just go drown myself in the lake and see if this muck will come off." She looked hopelessly at her ruined clothes, and then looked around at the other three. "You guys go on ahead—get cleaned up. It's almost suppertime. I'll get this stuff put away."

Richard was halfway to the house when he realized he'd forgotten his jacket in Yvenne's office— worn early that morning to ward off the pre-dawn chill. Wearily, he turned back to the stables, thinking longingly of a hot shower and wanting to kick himself. Yvenne was terribly stringent about keeping track of personal effects, however, and he'd get scolded for leaving it there.

Upon his return, however, he cheered slightly at the sight of Merril attending Réka's mount, Verita. She must have just come from her afternoon ride, he realized. Maybe he could catch her on her way home and walk her back. He looked around, but couldn't see Réka herself anywhere about. He headed for the office, keen on getting the jacket quickly so that he could find her.

The door to Yvenne's office was at the end of a hallway of other offices and storage rooms. It was the largest and best-lit, thus the best-suited for the ranch manager. There was light spilling from the open doorway as he approached and, to his surprise, voices.

"— don't know what you were thinking, Yvenne." The first voice belonged to Réka. She sounded greatly annoyed.

"It's a free planet, Réka," Yvenne replied wearily. "What do you care if I decided to come to a dance? It was a public event. You couldn't have stopped me."

"You never bothered before," Réka pointed out acidly. 

"What was that little display of yours with Prince Richard?" added another voice. Richard raised his eyebrows. By now, he'd paused in his trek, not wanting to betray his presence to those within the room. The third voice belonged to Mirak.

"Display?" Yvenne echoed, sounding bewildered.

"It's clear you have something going on with him," Réka said. "Why else would you have come? Or spent so much money on that wretched disaster of a gown?" she added, giving a derisive laugh.

"He invited me, yes," Yvenne said, sounding equally annoyed now, "but there's nothing going on between us."

"Don't lie to us!" Mirak cried. There was a sound of a hard slap, and Richard's eyes widened in surprise horror. 

"Mirak!" snapped Réka. She sounded surprised, though hardly as horrified as Richard felt. 

Yvenne spoke up. Her voice was pained, but defiant. "I don't give a bloody nerf's rear about your desire for the throne, Réka. The best of luck in attaining it; I'm sure it'll make you happy, but you can't stop me having friends."

There was a very tense pause. "Well," Réka finally said coolly. "I suppose it doesn't even matter. I happen to know I'm making very serious progress with His Highness. Frankly, even if he does find you distracting, I really don't care as long as I get what I want. Really, if you think about it, it's almost to be expected. You're nothing but an easy little tart, just like your mother, and he's only here a couple of months. I'm sure he finds _diversions_ wherever he goes."

A strange sort of cold sickness had overcome Richard. He stood there, half-paralyzed, hardly able to believe his own ears. _This_ was the charming and delightful Réka Resitan?

"Come on, Mirak," Réka snapped. "And Yvenne, make sure you clean up before you make any unannounced appearances at dinner. You smell like a garbage pile."

At this, Richard had the presence of mind to scramble into the nearest abandoned office. He heard Mirak take a deep, almost crazed-sounding breath, before saying threateningly, "Mind your place, Yvenne."

The sounds of the two siblings had faded for almost a full minute before Richard had overcome his shock enough to emerge. Even Réka's last comment had been infuriating. How could she possibly dismiss her cousin with such derision—Yvenne, who'd just spent the past three hours desperately trying to save three lives?

There was a sound of staggered, ragged sobs coming from Yvenne's office. When he slowly eased his way around the doorjamb, her back was to him, but she was turning, wiping furiously at her smudged face. It seemed to Richard that she was more angry than anything, almost hysterically so.

She jumped and shrieked a little when she saw him, and lowered her hand, giving him a good view of the large red welt on her left cheek. "Richard," she gulped, and began wiping her face again. "What? How did—?"

Frowning, he stepped forward. "Are you all right?" he asked.

Her fingers lingered on the mark for a moment. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," he said darkly. "I came back for my jacket." He nodded at it, where it sat on a nearby shelf, haphazardly thrown there this morning sometime after sunrise.

"Oh, right," Yvenne said, gathering herself and sniffing loudly. She grabbed it from its resting place and handed it to him. "There you go."

"Yvenne," he said softly. "I'm so sorry."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "Don't be."

"You need to report this."

"To who, Richard?" came the sarcastic reply.

"Surely Lord Resitan couldn't possibly stand for—"

"If you were hanging around long enough to know what just happened, then I may as well tell you that my uncle is very much Réka's father," she snapped. Richard was silent a moment, pondering the meaning of her words. Her eyes softened slightly. "I'm sorry."

He wondered if she was sorry about snapping or sorry about his discovery of her cousin's true character. "What did she mean about your mother?" he finally asked.

She turned her face away, pained. "My mother wasn't married when I was born," she said, resignation and shame in her voice. She would not look at him. "I don't even know who my father was."

She tried to edge past him, but he grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look him in the eye. "Is that why they treat you like an outcast?" he demanded. She only stared back, sorrowful, and he could read the answer there in her eyes. "Is that—" he stepped back, almost hurt, "—is that how you think I'm going to treat you?"

Still she did not reply, but something in her face seemed to break with relief. Two tears escaped from her strong eyes. "Yvenne," Richard said, and surprising himself, pulled her into a comforting embrace. "Never think that," he murmured.

It was some time before she stopped crying.

* * *

By the end of three afternoons' worth of 'observation,' Claria was quite sure Ceidron and his friend Metti both thought Yané was crazy. 

It wasn't so much her skill as it was the almost manic pleasure she seemed to take in her work. Also, when she wasn't leaning glassy-eyed over her computer consoles, she was doing things like absentmindedly putting her bracelets in the butter dish at the table where they were working, or humming patriotic Naboo songs under her breath while she was staring into space, thinking about something having to do with their project.

It was amusing for Claria to observe. So accustomed was she to her friend's quirks, that she had long forgotten how astonishing they could be when one was first exposed to them.

As for the work itself, Claria had done little but watch her friends hack at it—literally. And when she said friends she meant all three of them—for it turned out Versé had an investigative streak she hadn't ever really explored, coupled with a good business background from her time at the University. It was Versé who suggested what sort of information the trio should look at, and how it pieced together. Metti gave advice about the inner workings of his department and what he knew of the upper levels, and Yané retrieved everything they wanted to know. They'd quickly determined that whatever Metti had unwittingly uncovered involved at least three Bakurcom employees, in varying levels of importance. It was difficult to say how far beyond that the collusion spread, but they were fairly certain by now that there was some form of smuggling going on.

Claria and Ceidron did schoolwork.

It really was an odd situation, Claria reflected, yet strangely comfortable. Covert, possibly illegal private investigations aside, in just a few short days she'd come to feel just as home in these few rooms as she did in her palace—especially after Versé had thoroughly wiped down the countertops in the kitchen and refresher.

Ceidron was certainly an interesting person with whom to engage scholarly pursuits. He seemed to know a little something about everything— but she found herself more and more frequently asking for him help in her civics courses. She hadn't lied to him—she really didn't like studying government and politics, but Ceidron knew plenty.

She found herself wishing she could lock him in a room with any of her siblings. This was partly because his haughty opinions were sometimes infuriating, and _any_ of the other three Naberries would have been a stellar match for him. Sabé, in particular would not spare him the sharpness of her tongue. Richard might have been difficult to persuade of Ceidron's mentality; he was very much a traditionalist. Padmé, however, would probably have found some way to make Ceidron as happy as a hawkbat, without him— or any other person— being any the wiser.

More confusing was her growing awareness of other ways he affected her— confusing because he was a far cry from the sort of man she'd always imagined would attract her. Yet despite his blunt, forward (and at times almost offensive) manner, there was an honesty in the way he treated her that she was learning to enjoy. The fiery, stimulating intelligence in his dark eyes captivated her. 

She knew that he admired her, too. That was becoming plainer by the day. Yet when he looked at her, it was not as an object of worship, as had many of her previous admirers. Instead, there was a look of expectation, like when he'd convinced her to play the valadrett that night. It was as though he would not allow her to settle for anything less than the potential he saw in her.

He truly saw Claria, not a Princess of Naboo. Claria knew she was, by now, half a step from being totally swept away by utter infatuation. Especially when he was sitting so terribly close on the sofa, intently focused on his studies, making such an attractive picture…

"Uh oh."

As one, Ceidron and Claria looked up, towards the table and Yané's workstation. "What is it?" Claria asked. Today, the others were attempting to trace the source of whatever it was these bad guys were smuggling offworld.

The handmaiden's face was pale. She looked at Claria with an expression of mingled panic and mortification. "I've been locked out."

Claria blinked at her. "Meaning…?" she added a moment later.

"Someone's caught on to what I've been doing and has frozen all my control."

"Someone from within the organization?"

"Possibly, but…"

"But?" Claria was starting to get impatient.

"My lady, that should have been impossible. There's no way anyone using Bakurcom's systems could have detected me. It has to be coming from an independent hacker."

By now Claria was picking up on Yané's apprehension. "What are you trying to say?"

Yané took a deep breath. "I don't mean to be cocky, Princess, but…anyone with the know-how to detect my work has to be good. Very good." She winced. "Better than me. Now, it's possible he just now detected me and decided to lock me out like he was swatting a fly, but…"

"But what?" Versé insisted. It was clear she was even more annoyed with Yané than Claria.

"Well, if I was in his shoes, I would have let me work long enough to be able to figure out… where I was working from," Yané finished lamely.

It took a moment or two for the impact of these words to sink in.

Ceidron stood up. "You're saying we should leave," he said flatly.

Yané nodded, lips tight. "Probably very quickly," she added in a small voice.

Ceidron was already in motion. "We should split up," he said. "I know the streets best around _here_; I'll take the princess further into the city. If somebody is after us, you three try and draw them away from us." From a bookshelf beside the door, he pulled out a box with a small blaster inside, pocketed it, and threw the box aside. He looked at Metti. "Got a blaster?"

Metti seemed a little surprised, and was staring avidly at Ceidron's weapon. "Um… no," he said plainly.

Ceidron looked pointedly at Versé. She nodded. "I do." Claria was amazed the headstrong handmaiden was capitulating so readily to Ceidron's instructions.

He grinned. "Thought so." He then looked at Yané. "Wipe the computers. Whatever you think you should. We can't take them with us."

Yané's eyes widened, and she nodded fervently, seeming relieved at having been given a task. "On it," she added.

Versé now seemed to have picked up on Ceidron's sense of purpose. "Your Highness," she said to Claria, very formal but very firm, "you need to change into something else." She cast her eyes about. "Mr. Berker," she asked Metti, "do you have anything her Highness can wear?"

"Yeah, sure," said Metti. He disappeared into the bedroom.

Claria did not argue with Versé. It would have been a waste of energy, not to mention the handmaiden was only doing her job. Besides, she had to admit that the baggy, nondescript pants and jacket that Metti provided would make it far more easy to remain inconspicuous than her bright blue dress.

Ceidron gave her an appraising glance after she'd changed. "Best hide the hair, too," he concluded. "It makes your face more recognizable." Retreating to his own room, he returned with the beret he'd let her borrow that night at the jazz café. The irony did not escape her.

Versé had been watching out the front window. "I think you were right, Yané," she said grimly, gently lifting the edge of the blinds with a finger. "Looks like we're being staked out."

"How many?" Metti asked.

"I count at least five."

Yané looked like she was about to cry with guilt, but nobody bothered to either censure or comfort her. Claria would have to take the time to reassure her later, if she got the chance. After all, they'd all agreed to go into this together.

Ceidron sighed. "Okay," he said, shouldering a bag that held his schoolwork. He must have realized that it wouldn't be safe to come home for a while. Fortunately, the burden wasn't too great. "Back door. Maybe we'll lose them if we move fast. When we get to Ratchaz Street, you three head north, I'll take Claria toward the river. We'll rendezvous at the palace."

At first Ceidron's plan seemed to have worked— or so Claria thought. Although this wasn't the busiest part of town nor time of day, it was easy enough to mingle with the other pedestrians. Claria was sure they had eluded any possible tail, especially after they took a tram and doubled back, but Ceidron seemed unwilling to relax.

"Blast," he finally muttered under his breath. "We still haven't lost them. These guys are really good."

Claria's shoulders stiffened, but she didn't turn around. "Are you sure? We've been at this for two hours now. We must have lost them."

"No, they're there."

"You'd think they'd have done something by now." She fingered the bag of under-ripe plumbs she'd bought at the market as a pretense.

"I think they just want to know where we're going." Ceidron put his arm around her shoulders, obviously trying to make them look more casual. "Please, relax. You're not going to do us any good if you keep looking like a Princess."

Her mind was racing. The next corner was Larben Street, where Saché's family lived—and where Danae Trillium's shop was. "Take the next corner," she whispered. "Right."

They turned, and she directed them to the third building on the left. They went inside, and a few minutes later, Taren Trillium walked into the front room. "Your Highness," he said, bowing to Claria. "We weren't expecting you today."

"It's all right, Taren," she said. "Is your mother here?"

The young man shook his head. "No, she's at a fitting. But she'll be back soon."

As if on cue, the door opened, and the seamstress entered, a bundle in her arms. "Taren!" she called.

"I'm right here, Mother," he said.

Danae turned around and saw Claria standing behind Taren. "Oh! Princess," she said, smiling at Claria. "A delight to have you here."

"It is good to see you again, Danae," Claria replied, stepping forward to hug her. "How are you?"

"We are well," Danae said. "Just recovering from the Firstfall rush." She shifted the bundle from one arm to the other. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, Princess, I'll put this away and be right with you."

Claria nodded, and the Trilliums left the room. She turned back to Ceidron, who had raised a brow. "Madame Trillium is my sister's dressmaker," she clarified. "The Trilliums have been good friends since Padmé's election."

He looked out the window, and suddenly she found herself being pushed. "Ceidron!" she whispered. "What are you doing?"

Crouched down in front of the window, he held his fingers to his lips. Claria covered her mouth with her hand, almost reflexively. It was in this manner that Danae found them when she returned. "My stars, what's wrong?" she asked.

The Princess backed farther from the window. "I'm sorry, Danae, but we may have put you in some danger," she said. "We were being followed, and it looks like our friends are still hanging about."

Quickly and quietly Danae ushered them into the back room. "You can wait in here," she said. "Are you certain?"

Ceidron nodded and spoke for the first time since they had entered. "They've managed to keep up with us all over this sector. Now they're trolling around in front of the building."

"Oh dear." Danae started wringing her hands nervously. "Are you a member of the Royal Guard?" she asked. "I don't remember seeing you before."

He shook his head. "No, I'm just a friend."

"Ah." The seamstress extended her hand. "Danae Trillium."

"Ceidron Metz." He shook Danae's hand and fell silent.

Danae sighed. "Princess, where are your guards and handmaidens?"

"Safe, I hope. There were others besides these guys. Versé and Yané were trying to draw them in a different direction." She could only hope that the handmaidens had been able to shake their followers more easily than she and Ceidron had these.

"Your Highness, what's going on? Why are you in trouble?"

"Best if I don't tell you, Danae. I'm sorry."

Danae didn't press the subject. Instead, she turned to a drawing table. "Would you like to see my latest sketches for Her Highness?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, please," Claria said politely. As she followed Danae to the drawing table, she spared a glance at Ceidron. He nodded and turned away, standing in the doorway and watching. A sudden tug at her stomach almost compelled her to go and stand with him, but she beat away that feeling. He would tell her to stand back anyway. 

_Maybe he _should_ apply for the Royal Guard,_ she reflected. He was certainly acting the part.

Claria sighed as Danae turned a page. "Is something wrong?" the seamstress asked. "Other than the obvious."

The Princess smiled and shook her head. "No, nothing. These designs are beautiful," she replied. "Padmé will love them."

"I've got some of the fabric for them," said Danae. "The 'rainbow' one, as Taren calls it, I actually found the material for first."

"I'm sure she'll like that one particularly." Claria glanced over at the door again. Ceidron's back was still firmly to the room.

Danae stood. "I got a bolt of fabric in two weeks ago that I want you to look at, dear," she said. "I think it would suit your complexion better than your sisters'."

She followed the older woman to another corner of the room, from which Danae pulled out a white cloth. It was covered in thin, pale gold embroidery, almost the color of her hair. "This is lovely, Danae," she said. "But I'm sure Sabé would try to get first pick on this if she saw it."

The seamstress shook her head. "Cream favors Vána and Amidala better than this kind of white, no matter what the Queen likes to think. And I don't think I'd let the Senator have it." She laughed softly. "No, I think I'm going to save this for when you marry."

Claria looked down to hide her blush. "It's beautiful," she said, lightly fingering the embroidery. "I'm sure you'll make something amazing out of it."

Danae smiled fondly and wrapped the material up again. "Claria," she said hesitantly, her eyes flicking once more towards the front door. "Do you want to com Panaka?"

Claria winced and shook her head. The last thing she needed was Naboo's overbearing chief of security on her case. "No, that might just cause more trouble."

Danae pursed her lips. "Perhaps I can get you out of here."

At that, Claria looked at Ceidron, who had apparently been watching the pair. "I'm sure they have the building surrounded, Madam Trillium," he said. "Even if you have a back exit, we wouldn't be able to get out."

"There's no back exit," Danae replied. She turned her attention back to Claria. "Do you remember how you got out of the palace when the Trade Federation invaded?"

She nodded. "Through the tunnels that lead out of the palace."

"This building was built as a safe house during another crisis," said Danae. "There's an exit into those tunnels through the basement. You'd just have to follow it to Lornaira and cross from there to the tunnel into the palace, just how you got out seven years ago."

Claria nodded again. "I remember." She looked at Ceidron, whose grey eyes were a bit of a puzzle. "It's a very long walk," she advised. "Into the tunnels under the city, down to the bottom of the waterfalls, and back up. And it'll be very cold," she added.

There was a mix of doubt, concern, and something else there that she couldn't quite pinpoint. "As long as you know where you're going," he said, his voice rather gruff.

Claria frowned for a moment, but stopped herself from voicing her concern. Instead, she turned to Danae and said, "Please, show us the way."

"I'll give you some better coats," was Danae's relieved reply.

* * *

It seemed like hours had passed before they saw light again. Ceidron couldn't imagine what it must have been like during the Trade Federation invasion, a young Claria, probably the oldest in the group, leading other children out of the palace and to a dubious shelter. In that instant, he couldn't deny that there must have been some advantage to being the daughter of a strong leader. The child Claria must have had something of her mother in her.

There was a sound of rushing water, the source of which Ceidron could not determine. The ground beneath them was soft as well, from the humidity. Desperately he wished he knew could get his bearings. He'd lived in Theed for a few years now, and he still didn't know his way around parts of the city _above_ ground, let alone below.

"Lornaira," Claria said, suddenly, as they neared the tunnel mouth.

"What?" he asked.

"Lornaira Valley," she clarified. "Look."

They stepped out into the open, and Ceidron saw at last the source of the sound. Under the power of the mighty waterfalls, the ground seemed to perpetually quake, and the air was filled with the sweetness of the pure river water. It was like stepping into a cloud. There was water everywhere, even though he couldn't see it. He could taste the freshness of the water as he breathed in the air. As the last rays of the sun were dying to the west, the light hit the water and burst into a prism all around. He stopped in his tracks. There was light and sound and scent and taste and feeling all around them now, a symphony of the senses in which not a note was out of tune.

Except, as Claria had warned, it was very cold.

His captivation was apparently noticeable, for Claria said, "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

He nodded. "There's nothing like this at home."

She fell silent for a little while. When she did speak again, she asked, "Where is home, exactly?"

Ceidron blinked, realizing that this was the first time his past had ever been mentioned by either of them. "Commenor," he said. "It's a lot like Coruscant, without the government to give it distinction."

"Do you have family there?"

Unwanted, repressed memories rose in the wake of her innocuous question. They were the images he replayed only in his dreams, when he wasn't conscious to suppress them. He should have known that it would eventually come up if he kept seeing Claria. Not that she meant harm—far from it.

"Ceidron?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't have any family left."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "What—what happened?"

"My mother died when I was six," he replied, hoping not to have to give details. "I suppose it's possible that my father is still alive, not that it matters."

"What do you mean?"

Ceidron glanced into her brown eyes, so full of innocence, and wondered how he could ever tell her this. He looked away. "He killed her," he said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the waterfalls. But she heard it, and gasped. "He drank a lot, and when he got angry he'd hit whoever was closest. It was something I was used to." Ceidron shrugged. "One day I came down the stairs and watched as he beat her till she stopped moving."

He risked a glance at her. She had covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes had become very bright. "My brother Pavol took me to live with him then, but he died a few years later. Shot and killed in the crossfire of some gang dispute."

"Did you—"

"No." Ceidron dabbed the water with the toe of his boot. "I didn't see that."

"So—" she began. He looked over at her to see uncertainty on her face. "What happened then?" she asked.

"I ended up in an orphanage. Someone was kind enough to teach me some things there and pull some strings to get me into a boarding school on Commenor. After that I got a scholarship to the university there, and then a fellowship to study here." He shrugged. "My life hasn't been too exciting past the age of nine."

His throat was thick by then, and he was determined not to tell her anything else about his past. She already knew more than—well, anyone. If he'd known where to go, he would have left before she could say anything else about it. But she didn't offer words of comfort. Instead, she began to rub his back slowly. "My mother died when I was eleven," she said, her voice very low in pitch, and rough. "We still don't know who was ultimately responsible. She and Father were out for a walk in the morning, and a sniper on the Parliament building shot her."

Her hand froze, and Ceidron looked over his shoulder to look at Claria. A tear had already traced a path down her cheek. "Father was with her when she died. She knew she was dying, that she wasn't going to see any of us again. . . ."

As her voice trailed off, Ceidron turned to face her. She didn't need to explain how her father had died— he had just arrived on Naboo when the Prince Consort had passed away from illness. Now she had started crying, her small shoulders shaking and tiny sobs escaping her throat. Moved by a pity he hadn't felt in years, he did something he had never anticipated doing: he held her. And that was all that was needed, for either of them.

It seemed odd in this beautiful place to be exploring such rawness of the soul, and yet the dying embers of prism light exposed the delicacy of the place, and Lornaira demanded the same from them. Long-buried memories still pierced his heart, but somehow, having Claria there in his arms proved a soothing balm, to heal his hurts through nursing hers.

At some point Claria stopped crying, and Ceidron felt he had to release her. But aside from removing his arms from her and taking a tiny step back, he didn't move, and neither did she. A little awkwardly, he lifted his hands to her cheeks, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. She wouldn't make eye contact, but she didn't need to. Lornaira's perpetual crash was pounding in his ears, but he could hardly hear it over the beating of his heart. Surely Claria could hear it too.

All it had taken was her head resting against his chest for a moment. He'd been fighting this moment for days now, but having had her in his arms, Ceidron could no longer deny how strong his attraction to her was. It was more powerful than the impact of the waterfalls on the rocks below, shaking the core of his being more forcibly than the water shook the ground.

Her breath was uneven as she spoke. "I'm sorry, Ceidron. I didn't—I still—"

Claria never finished expressing her thought, but Ceidron didn't feel sorry for interrupting her. Quickly he tilted her chin up and kissed her, more forcefully than he had intended. He just couldn't hold back anymore. His moved his hands upward, knocking the beret askew to the wet, stony ground below, releasing her long, golden hair. His hands were buried there before she figured out how to respond to him, but it was apparent that a dam had been broken within her as well. Her hands ran up his back and clutched his broad shoulders, and Ceidron slowly slid his arms around her as he coaxed her into a deeper kiss.

She was clearly inexperienced, but that didn't stop or slow him. He had a frightening need to fill up his senses with her as wholly as Lornaira had filled him. Claria became more passionate in her response, however, and Ceidron found that that was not so difficult. In her kiss was the voice that had spoken that night she'd played the valadrett, and now Ceidron understood it. And as time passed, the kiss became a music all its own.

It was a long time before they mutually pulled away, and even longer before they broke the embrace. Neither spoke, but somehow his hand found its way into hers as they left the valley and headed back to the real world. For he was certain Lornaira no longer existed, except perhaps in his dreams.

* * *

The morning sunshine was very bright— pouring into the large windows of Jon's office when Saché arrived. Jon himself wasn't anywhere around, but that wasn't unusual. He seemed to have a ridiculously difficult time getting out of bed in the morning. She smiled, and secretly hoped he'd rush out without combing his hair properly. Then she'd have an excuse to mess with it.

The past couple of weeks had been some of the most pleasant in her life. True, the circumstances for her spending so much time at Bakurcom—first the glowquartz matter and now this mysterious problem of Claria's— weren't exactly causes for celebration, but she wasn't about to pretend she didn't enjoy every minute of getting to work closely with Jon. Her shyness had melted more than it ever had before. There had been moments where she'd almost felt if she could just find the words…

But inevitably, her courage failed her. As always.

_Maybe today._

She hung up her cloak and went into the kitchen to start a pot of caf, keeping an ear out for his arrival. When the caf was ready, she poured a hot mug, wrapping her hands around to warm them up, and pondered the day ahead.

For several days now, they'd been at a dead end with regards to their glowquartz research. There just wasn't much information to be had, besides limited medical reports, and these were only marginally helpful in determining the makeup or source of the drug. Certainly nothing that would indicate a connection to Naboo.

Instead, Saché had spent the past two days building a detailed database of shipment records from Bakurcom's Theed warehouse, using the information Claria's friend had provided. It was painstaking work, but she hoped to finish entering all the relevant data this morning, then begin some real analysis.

Two hours later, Jon still hadn't arrived. Saché finished her data entry, and was just starting to feel general concern for what was keeping him, when the door opened and his assistant, Laicha, poked her head into the office. "Miss Drianna?" she said. "Mr. Bakuro commed. He said there's been a security problem of some kind in his building— they're holding up the residents for investigation. He probably won't be in until later.

Saché no doubt did a very poor job of hiding her disappointment. "Thank you, Laicha," she said. The assistant turned to leave, but Saché, who had spent the last thirty minutes extrapolating patterns in her database, called out, "Oh, Laicha?"

"Yes?" the other woman asked, turning back.

"Could you get me copies of Bakurcom's personnel files for terminals in the Jenispran sector of the Mid-Rim?"

Laicha frowned. "Mr. Bakuro said to give you anything you wanted, Miss Drianna, but I'd still feel really reluctant to—"

"Believe me, it's fine," Saché assured her. "I'm helping Jon with a little security issue of his own."

"What's the problem?" Laicha asked, stepping forward. There was concern in her face.

"We seem to have stumbled upon some kind of covert smuggling operation," Saché said. "Look at this," she added, indicating her computer monitor. "There is a short list of all the shipments we _know_ to be involved. At first, we couldn't find any sort of connection, But now it's so clear I can't believe I missed it."

"What?"

"Even though all these shipments are going to different places, they're all – at some point— being routed through the same terminal. Jenispra."

_Which is where Sabé and Dooji went._

A chill of realization brushed over Saché and she gasped softly. Was it possible? "I want to review personnel files from the Jenispran facility," she said. "See if I can't profile who might be on that end of it."

"I'll be right back," Laicha said.

Saché continued to examine her findings while the other woman was away, growing more excited by the minute. Now she _really_ wished Jon was here. She couldn't wait to tell him. If she was right, than their two separate investigations were actually one and the same.

Laicha returned, carrying a small stack of flimsies, which she was holding very awkwardly.

"Thank you," Saché said, standing and going to the other woman. "Here, let me help you with—"

She never finished the sentence. Her words died in her throat as the flimsies fell to the floor, clattering loudly and scattering in various directions. Beneath them, Laicha held a small blaster— one that reminded Saché very much of the pistols that had been commissioned for Amidala and the handmaidens back during the Trade Federation's siege. She stared at the assistant in dumb shock.

Laicha's hand shook slightly and her eyes were very bright. "I'm sorry, Miss Drianna," she said. "But I can't run the risk of Mr. Bakuro finding out what's going on. We need to leave."

"Leave?" Saché repeated faintly.

"You and me. Now. I promise you won't be hurt if you just come with me quietly."

Saché narrowed her eyes. She didn't really think that tiny blaster was capable of inflicting any serious damage, and despite her distaste for hand-to-hand combat, Panaka had been a very good trainer.

She darted forward, swinging her left arm up hard, and succeeded in knocking the blaster out of the other woman's hand. Laicha made a laughable attempt to retaliate, throwing a wild punch, and Saché realized that even for someone as untalented as herself, this couldn't be too difficult. 

Laicha was fast, at least. Prepared this time, she darted out of the way as Saché moved again. Then she pulled her hand out of her pocket and held up something high, keeping on the balls of her feet to avoid Saché's circling. "I've been monitoring your research," she said, eyes wild. "As long as you didn't find anything, I was willing to leave you alone. But just in case…" She gulped. "This is a self-destruct of this office building. It's set to go off in half an hour, and unless we get to my ship by that time, I can't turn it off."

Saché had no doubts of the woman's sincerity. There was a strange paranoia and edginess in her that Saché wondered how she'd ever failed to notice. Granted, she hadn't really taken much time to get to know Jon's assistant, but she had never imagined her to be untrustworthy. Certainly never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined anything like _this_ scenario. "You're bluffing," she finally said.

"See for yourself," Laicha cried. She'd reached the end table by the sofa now and kicked it over. Saché stepped slowly closer. Sure enough, blinking softly in the underside corner of the table was a small black explosive device. "There are about sixty of these planted around this floor," Laicha went on. By this time she'd retrieved her pistol again. "I have access to every room in this office."

"I know you do," Saché said softly. "What is it you want?"

"I told you. I want you to come with me. Quietly. And you'd better hurry. You have to destroy your research before we leave, and that won't give you much time."

In reality, Saché was much too annoyed—both with herself and with Laicha— to feel much fear. She set about doing as the woman had requested, using a couple of tricks Yané had taught her to backup the data into Sabé's computers over in the Senatorial building. She breathed a silent prayer of gratitude to Yané for her tutelage, because Laicha was carefully watching her over her shoulder and didn't seem to suspect anything. Hopefully Jon and Dormé would be able to retrieve it.

"Done," she declared a few minutes later. "Good," said Laicha, as Saché retrieved her cloak. "One more thing," she added. "I'm perfectly capable of triggering the self-destruct any time we're still in this system. If you try anything fancy before we get to hyperspace, I _will_ set it off. Lots of innocent lives will be on your hands. Including, even possibly, Mr. Bakuro's."

Saché swallowed. That was definitely enough to cause her fear. "You have my word," she replied.

"Let's go."

* * *

**Replies:**

**RivendellWriter**- Obi-Wan is confused, to answer your question, though he does a good job of hiding it. ;-)

**Voice.Hear.Me** - Thanks for the reviews! Sorry about the delay.

**Eruannelaviriel**- That is one complex user name you've got going there, you know that? LOL I'm fond of those two romances myself. :-)

**Willow** - Thank! It's coming—slowly but surely.

* * *

**A/N:** Many distractions in life right now. Not all excusable, but so it is. Updates will be slow, but I _am_ working on it. :-)

Later!

Saché 


	12. Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This

**Chapter Twelve**

The office was nearly deserted when Jon finally arrived. Only the cleaning staff and a couple of lingering workaholics remained. Even Saché had gone home for the day— something he found disappointing but not surprising. It was only on the off chance that she was waiting around for him that he'd even bothered coming in at this point.

Figuring he might as well get something accomplished since he was already here, Jon turned on his computer and opened the blinds to the brilliant Coruscant sunset. It wouldn't last very long. Unlike Naboo, the nights on the capital fell very swiftly. He worked for about half an hour on some loose ends that needed his attention on the Rinalio matter. In a couple of days, the contract would be ready for submission. He was excited about the prospects.

The com beeped loudly, startling him out of his work. Stretching, he stood up and went to answer it.

"Dormé," he said in surprise as the dark-haired handmaiden's figure coalesced into view on the holopad.

"Hi, Jon. I was wondering if you're going to be sending Sach home anytime today." Dormé looked beyond him, as if expecting to see Saché materialize there as well.

Jon frowned. "Home?" he repeated. "Saché isn't here. She's been gone a while by the looks of it. I assumed she was with you."

"I haven't talked to her all day."

"She didn't leave a message?"

"Not with me."

A flash of cold, instinctive fear washed over Jon. "That's not like her," he said slowly, willing himself not to overreact. "Maybe she left a message with me and I didn't notice," he said. "I'll call you back."

"Okay."

He couldn't have explained it, but something about the room looked sinister as he broke the connection with Dormé. An end table by the far sofa was askew. Night had fallen, filling the corners beyond his desk lamp's pool of light with mottled shadows that flickered and pulsed with the rhythms of the Coruscant night life.

Jon hastened to the terminal Saché usually used when she worked. It was quiet, the computer in sleeper mode, with no soft light indicating a message of any kind. Still, he turned it on. She should have left him some record of what she'd been working on today.

It didn't take him long to find that all the glowquartz files had been completely stripped. Then he knew his instincts were more than mere overreacting.

Something was wrong.

After dashing frantically out into the offices, he rather abruptly stormed into the first occupied office he could find, which was three down the hall from his own.

"Mr. Bakuro?" its occupant queried, looking up. He seemed a bit surprised by Jon's sudden, half-frenzied arrival.

Jon couldn't remember the man's name. He glanced at the nameplate on the door. "Coggs?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Did you see Miss Drianna today?"

"I think so, sir. She was here for a couple hours this morning."

"Do you know where she went?"

"I didn't see her leave, sir, but—" Coggs paused mid-sentence, his eyes falling on something behind Jon. Jon turned around to see Andry, one of the cleaning staff standing hesitatingly in the doorway. There was a trash bag in her hand.

"Sir?" she said. "Miss Drianna left with Miss Kova."

Jon frowned. "Laicha?" he repeated.

"They said they were going to lunch. Kind of early, but I didn't think anything of it. They didn't come back."

"Yeah, I thought it was weird that Laicha hadn't been back today," Coggs observed, reaching up to rub at a crick in his neck. "Didn't realize she'd left with Miss Drianna, though."

After a brief search of Laicha's office, the pieces began to fall into place. Jon hastened with all speed to the Senatorial sector, his heart overcome with fear.

* * *

Yvenne wondered how long it would be before Prince Richard approached her about what had transpired the previous evening. She hadn't been avoiding him exactly, but she was still trying to sort out her own feelings. She was certainly unprepared to face him about it.

From the depths of the horror she'd felt when she realized he'd overheard Réka's stinging words, to the sweet, unparalleled relief when he'd reassured her—the emotional range was exhausting to say the least. Even more lingering than these, though, was the ache that had sparked inside her when his chin had rested comfortingly in her hair. 

The stable girl was falling in love with the handsome prince.

Basically, the whole set of circumstances left Yvenne feeling very out of control, and she had no idea how to handle it. But something told her Richard was going to broach it again, and soon. Her best defense was to immerse herself in work. At least she'd have something to do with her hands.

Leda was sick— having fallen under a minor chest malady that had been making the rounds in the stable. Not too serious, but Yvenne didn't want to strain her with a long run today. So she set about saddling Nala—not her favorite mount, but she had good stamina.

"Yvenne."

She glanced sidelong. Richard stood there, some bridle gear looped over his shoulder, scrutinizing her with those knowing, inescapable, beautiful brown eyes.

Annoyed with herself, Yvenne tugged a little to harshly on Nala's bridle, causing the beast to give a little growl of protest in her throat. "Saddle up," Yvenne said quietly. "Brégo again. We've got a northern sensor run today."

She sensed rather than saw him nod, and he moved out of her peripheral vision. Yvenne let out a breath slowly, trying to collect herself.

He did not speak again until they were almost fifteen minutes away from the stables, the ranch buildings just a speck on the receding horizon. "So you really don't intend to do anything about Mirak?" he finally asked.

Yvenne glanced at him. His jaw was set stiffly, his eyes squinting to the dusty vista before him. He sat much better in the saddle these days. He still wasn't the best, but at least he didn't stick out like a Hutt in Theed anymore. 

The truth. Yvenne sighed softly before she spoke. She could handle that. "There's something wrong with Mirak," she said at last.

Richard snorted. "Yes, I kind of noticed that."

"No," she said. "I mean… something more than usual. I've been noticing it for some time now." She looked at him. "He's never struck me before, Richard. Never. None of them have. They all have too much noble pride. But lately Mirak's been increasingly volatile, like he's been drinking nonstop or something. He disappears for hours, sometimes days. It's different than how things used to be." She paused. "I think he's involved in something."

"Why are you telling me?"

Yvenne couldn't be certain where the words came from—or even the idea itself. It was a moment of inspiration, but she said it as calmly as if she'd been planning it all along.

"Would you help me find out what it is?"

* * *

"No Pomaille today?"

At the sound of Ceidron's voice, Claria looked up from her books and smiled stupidly. He sidled to a place beside her on the hoverbench, straddling it and leaning in close under the pretense of studying her work.

"Hmmn. No," Claria replied. She turned back to her studies and began to stare at them avidly, pretending to concentrate. She giggled softly when Ceidron tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and kissed the top of it. "We're long past that. Moving on to… Last week we started studying socialist… Ceidron, stop that!" Claria was giggling in earnest now, as Ceidron had been alternating kissing and blowing on her ear.

"Stop what?" he murmured, teasing "You study too hard," he whispered.

"Oh, says the man who just spent the last two hours bookmarking half of our political selection," Claria said, heat flushing her face.

After escaping their mysterious pursuers, it had been rather apparent to everyone that Ceidron and Metty couldn't go back home. So Claria had done the first thing that had sprung to her mind. She extended them both an open invitation to stay at the palace. Since then, Ceidron had spent about a quarter of his waking hours devouring the royal library. The Ceidron of old would probably have raised a fuss at Princess Elsinoré _deigning_ to offer them haven, she figured, thinking on it with a smile, but things were different now.

"It's late," Ceidron said nonchalantly. He reached his arm around her and flipped over her datapad. Then he turned her face toward his slowly then leaned forward. "Time to stop," he murmured.

Claria's rebuttal died in a muffled _mmph_. Strong fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her closer. A couple of moments later, when Ceidron concluded his kiss, Claria was still poised with eyes half-closed, rather dazed.

"Well that's done it," she sighed, straightening and looking at him levelly. "I won't be able to concentrate on anything for at_ least_ two hours."

"Only two?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He gave a rakish grin. "I'm losing my touch."

The superior part of Claria's personality (the part Versé and Moteé kept trying to appeal to) found his cockiness insufferable. But the rest of her knew the depths hidden behind his brazen façade. She'd witnessed it in Lornaira.

_Besides, like it or not, he has reason to be cocky._ She'd certainly had enough exposure to Ceidron's romantic side by now to know _that_.

Literally dozens of men had expressed past interest in courting Claria Elsinoré Naberrie. It was inherent with her position and precisely the reason she'd been afraid to take anyone's attentions seriously. But she'd never met anyone that made her blood race the way Ceidron Metz could with the merest of expressions.

"It _is_ late," she echoed finally, smiling softly at him. "I'm going to head to bed."

His fingers lingered in her own as they made their way down the long, cool, marble hallways towards the residential wing. Claria's mother had always said Theed was the best place in the galaxy to fall in love. While Claria figured this was a biased sentiment, she challenged anyone to refute it. Her favorite part of the route was a colonnade that cut across a fern garden. Two of Naboo's moons brightly illuminated the vegetation, some almost twice as tall as the average human, making it seem like a magical forest from her old favorite folk stories. It had been one of Richard's favorite places to hide when they'd played games as children.

"Well, here we are," she finally announced when they reached her doorway. The walk had seemed entirely too short to Claria. She swiped a hand over the elaborately-disguised panel. She hesitated, then said recklessly. "Do you… want to come in? I don't think you've seen my clavaria," she was quick to add.

"You mean the one you played in the concert wasn't…?" he began.

She smiled and shook her head. "No. This one's my baby, but it's much too sensitive an instrument to cart around all the time."

"Doesn't seem very heavy," he commented. They'd gone through the doorway and had crossed the room, studying the instrument in its small alcove. The strings shone softly in the moonlight.

She laughed. "Did you ever try to tune one of these things?" she asked.

"No."

"Trust me. It's best to let them sit if you can."

Claria was distantly aware of the fact that she was alone in her bedroom with a man who knew his way around the galaxy, and that the door had just slid shut behind them. She shrugged off the thought, though. He was a full two meters away, for starters. More than that, though, she trusted him.

Ceidron turned to her. "Play something," he said softly.

"Now?" she blurted dumbly.

"Yes. I want you to hear you play the way you do when no one's around. No jazz patrons, no… adoring Naboo populace. Just you."

For some reason, Claria found this request both elating and terrifying. She'd never had one of its like. "Okay," she said softly, and wordlessly took a seat on the stool.

She wasn't sure how long she played. Time seemed nonexistent in the dimness. Ceidron sat in a chair in the corner, so deep in a shadow that he half-disappeared. But she could sense his eyes on her, and her heart beat faster with every minute. She refrained from the classical pieces. The thought of fairy tales and fern forests translated through her fingers into the oldest folk songs she knew. Sometimes she sang of her people and her heritage, and her love filled every note.

"I understand it now."

Claria had finally stopped, silent for a moment, lost in something she couldn't describe. She turned to Ceidron, and he stood up. He began walking toward her.

"What?" she asked, standing and facing him.

"Why it is the Naboo love the Naberries so well." He stopped in front of her and put his hands on her face.

She smiled. "I'm not like the others, remember?"

"I don't care," he breathed.

With that, his lips were on hers, in such a way as they'd never been before. Fast, fervent, intoxicating… his kiss was rich and masterful. Claria had never felt so alive, so much a woman. Ceidron groaned, and everything grew a little rougher, a little harder. She could sense that they were moving someplace, her feet shuffling blindly backwards at Ceidron's lead. A moment later she was jarred slightly as her back found the nearest wall. Then Ceidron's encompassing scent became the whole world.

He hadn't shaved in a couple of days. The stubble on his cheeks was rough on her palms, especially at the speed with which they were exploring, but even this made her vision swim like a solar flare. Abruptly, he broke away from her lips and began to trail hot kisses down her neck. When he rubbed his stubbly cheek up her neck, she could feel her vocal cords tremor against his touch as she murmured his name.

Ceidron pulled back a moment and stared at her, breathing hard for a moment. "Gods, you're beautiful," he whispered.

"Thank you," she murmured, eyes still half-closed, tugging him back again.

Their interplay continued some blissful moments longer until Claria thought she was either going to melt into the floor or go absolutely crazy. At this point, she wasn't sure if she would mind either result. But it was distracting enough that for a while she didn't even think about _how_ he was touching her, and then it was even longer before she realized that he had unfastened the first two buttons of her blouse and was working on the third.

With a gasp that was almost painful, her eyes widened and she pulled harshly away, the room suddenly sickeningly cold. She swallowed. "What are you doing?" she demanded, tugging the plackets of the shirt closed again.

Ceidron seemed very, very surprised. "I thought—" he began.

Claria ducked underneath his arms and stepped away. "You thought wrong," she said with quiet anger. She wasn't sure who she was more angry at, herself or Ceidron.

There was a painfully awkward silence. "Claria—" Ceidron began, looking confused and— to her satisfaction— somewhat abashed.

She couldn't let him finish. "Just… just go. Please," she said, not meeting his eyes.

He left without a word. Afterward, the silence of the room seemed to shout unspoken accusations from every corner. Cold shame filled Claria's heart and ran like ice through her veins.

She cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Obi-Wan missed his Jedi robes.

Jenispra was a very warm, humid planet and his rich cover story meant he was wearing rich, heavy clothes. Very uncomfortable. While traditional Jedi garb might have seemed dull or coarse to the average observer, it was actually very comfortable, practical, and deceptively light.

Wearing Jedi clothes also helped him remember that he was a Jedi and what boundaries he was committed to observe— boundaries he feared he'd been skirting a little too closely of late.

But he mustn't think about it, he told himself firmly. It was just a passing anomaly, probably born of the fact that Anakin, his only steady companion, had been more and more of a trial lately. The fact was, Obi-Wan Kenobi was a little bit lonely. But a Jedi was master of all emotions, so he would not allow himself to be… distracted.

It didn't help that Lanelle Caine had decided to put the problem and the problem's _name_ in the same sentence.

"You had better be careful, Master Kenobi," she advised coolly, the evening of the day they'd retrieved the glowquartz sample. She'd caught him in one of the ship's corridors and prevented him from sidestepping her scrutiny by physically barring his escape route.

"Careful, Master Caine?" he returned, genuinely uncertain as to her meaning.

"I know Senator Vána is very young and beautiful. But she is a politician _and_ royalty. Perhaps she thinks she can be the exception to a very long-established tradition." Here Master Caine raised a meaningful pair of eyebrows, and the pieces clicked into place.

_I should have eased up on the swinging, I guess._

"Senator Vána is an old friend," Obi-Wan replied, his tone now equally as cool. "I've known her since she was a child. Furthermore, you are out of line. This is my business."

"Children grow up, Obi-Wan, including my Padawan, and as long as we're on this mission, as long as she's watching every move you make, I will _make_ it my business."

Obi-Wan had left her with additional –albeit very _stiff_— reassurances, and had been trying not to let the incident get under his skin. The trouble was, although Master Caine's accusations left him indignant, when he looked back on the past couple of weeks with a detached eye, he couldn't really say he blamed her.

Sabé Naberrie had a core of vibrant strength that had always drawn him. He couldn't deny it. It seemed to be a common thread in her family, for Anakin had known her sister for merely space of days and had dwelt on the memory of them for almost nine years now. But Obi-Wan had come to know Sabé far better than Anakin had ever known Padmé. He considered her one of his dearest friends, and he now began to realize that keeping their correspondence secret from the Council might not have been the wisest course. At the time, he hadn't thought anything of it. She was a child asking for advice in a role he quite frankly had always believed she'd been a little too young for.

There was nothing wrong with having friends or correspondents of course. But had the Council known he had such a close, personal connection to this mission, they never would have chosen him for it, Naboo experience or no Naboo experience. Then he wouldn't have been in this mess.

_But you aren't in a mess, remember?_ the little annoying voice inside taunted.

Obi-Wan scowled, and returned to trying to focus on what Dooji was saying.

"Deysa no mistakin'." The gungan's bulbous eyes were nervous and uneasy, and for a moment he looked frighteningly like Jar Jar on the skittish scale. 

Dooji had been diligently working on the glowquartz sample for several days now, and everyone had tried his or her best to keep out of his way. He hadn't seemed to need any assistance, so Obi-Wan continued his pretense around Cliopa and pursued the glowquartz trail. He and Anakin had managed to follow it to a large multi-company shipping hub, but he hadn't yet been to access the facility. With his Jedi status, getting inside wouldn't have been a problem under normal circumstances, but the last thing Obi-Wan needed right now was to blow their cover.

Young Helaine, a full head shorter than Sabé, was short enough that she could fold her arms atop Dooji's tall, though narrow, lab table and fold her arms on her head, which she was doing now, her large, violet-blue eyes studying the gungan's every move with interest. Master Caine had gone back to retrieve a message that had been delivered to the team's quarters in Cliopa, and had been gone for some time, almost reluctantly leaving her Padawan in Obi-Wan's care. "What's wrong, Dooji?" Sabé asked with concern, studying his notes from his side. Obi-Wan did not recognize the symbols, but from their fairly exotic lines and his own few memories of Otoh Gunga, he guessed they were written in the biologist's native language. It must have meant something to Sabé, though, for she seemed to be reading it to a certain extent, but puzzlement still occupied most of her features.

"Dissen' glowquartz," Dooji continued, holding up the vial they'd found in the box they'd retrieved from the drop site, "Makin' up of dem muy muy pieces."

Out of the corner of his eye, Obi-Wan saw Helaine's brow crinkle slightly. She stared at Dooji with mild bewilderment. He smiled slightly. "It's a very complex formula, right?" he clarified for the youngster's benefit.

"Righto. Mesa tinks too knotty dat da Jenisprans tink of it just goin' crazy swimming."

This time Helaine looked straight at Obi-Wan, eyes unapologetically asking for help, but it was Sabé who answered this time. She did not, however, seem to note Helaine's difficulty with Gungan speech patterns. She seemed much too involved in Dooji's long-awaited findings. "Well, Jenispra is a place well-known for its pharmaceuticals," she said. "It's possible this drug was developed in a lab while trying to manufacture something else entirely and its discovery exploited."

"I agree," said Obi-Wan. "We knew this planet had something important to do with glowquartz, and we knew the possibility you just suggested was very likely."

"Yousa righto again," Dooji said, nodding at Obi-Wan and Sabé simultaneously. "Some lixers only from Jenispra. Some not okay to have sittin' 'round."

"But that still doesn't explain—" Sabé began, but Dooji cut her off, his voice very serious, his eyes fixed on her unblinkingly. 

"One lixer," he added with meaning, "from Naboo."

Sabé paused. "What?" she finally repeated sharply. "You mean…?"

"I mean, widdout da Naboo lixer, dissen glowquartz…" Dooji made a motion with the vial as if to throw it in the trash. "No good," he concluded.

"Dex said that without Naboo the continued production and trafficking of glowquartz would be impossible," Sabé said softly, almost to herself. She looked up. "Dooji, can you tell us what the substance is? Do you know where on Naboo we can find it?"

Obi-Wan could only hope that if Dooji knew, that it would be something to help continue the trail. If the substance was something like green grass or waterfall spray, they were probably in trouble.

"Yup, for certin'," the Gungan replied. He opened his mouth to continue, but then all four of them turned their heads at the sound of the door opening in the narrow corridor outside the lab. Master Caine was returning.

Master Caine never looked exactly _happy_, but right now she was as outwardly angry as Obi-Wan knew she would ever allow herself to be. Her lips were pressed together so tightly that they almost seemed to fade into her cheeks, and her eyes sought him immediately, full of something like annoyed resignation.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately, a familiar sense of common premonition stirring in his mind. Somehow, he knew what her answer would be. 

Or at least whom it would involve.

"Anakin," she announced very stiffly, "has been arrested."

* * *

"There it is."

Jon was pointing to one line of a computer monitor in Coruscant's Traffic and Air Security offices. The great thing about being rich was that you could get people to pay attention to you very quickly if you needed to. For the last hour, he, Dormé, Rizzo, Typho, and half the office's upper-level management had been shifting through mountains of traffic data for the day, looking for evidence of a single hyperspace jump.

It hadn't taken him long to figure out that Liacha Kova had departed the planet. At least he hoped that's where the evidence pointed. Her small personal ship had not been at its usual berth, and no one had been to her apartment since the middle of the morning. He had people watching it now, of course, just in case, but he didn't think she'd be back. The only obvious conclusion was that Laicha had fled the system, presumably with Saché.

Or so he could only hope. If she was hiding somewhere on the capital, he'd never find her. In reality, Laicha's trail seemed very sloppy and easy to follow. Jon was counting on her being desperate and not really knowing how to go about doing this thing. 

What he couldn't figure out was _why_ she'd done it.

The next step became determining where she'd gone, and Jon was pretty sure he'd just figured it out. 

Dormé hurried over and leaned over his shoulder "Where?" she asked. A second later, they were joined by two of the others.

Jon pointed again. "She transmitted a forged ID transponder, which is why we couldn't find her right away, but the ship's specs match and the timing is right."

"How would she get a forged transponder like that?" Dormé queried aloud.

"That will be one of the three-hundred angry questions I have for her after I find her."

"Sir, if you'll permit me?" one of the Security people asked, nodding at the computer where Jon was sitting.

"Oh, of course," Jon said, readily offering the man his place.

The man worked with the computer for a moment, running some decryption-type things on the flight record that Jon couldn't completely follow. A moment later, he nodded. "Yup. It wasn't the best work, but enough to avoid flagging the hyperspace controllers planetside. She went to Naboo."

"Why would she go back to Naboo?" Rizzo asked. 

Jon's eyes were darkened. "I don't know," he said, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. "But that's all I need to know. I'm going after her."

"Jon—" Dormé began.

"I'll come with you," Rizzo said.

Dormé looked between the two men and nodded a moment later. "At least wait long enough to get something proper to eat and make a few preparations. I'll help you."

Jon resisted the urge to scream protest. But knowing it would take a little while to get departure clearance anyway, he bit his tongue and nodded. He turned to the head security manager. "I'll pay you whatever it'll take to have my ship cleared to leave the system in two hours. Less, if you can manage. Also, please place a call to the Naboo Space Control. It'll take her two more days to get there. They can be on the watch."

"I'll get right on it, Mr. Bakuro."

"Thank you."

Dormé prepared a wonderful, warm, filling meal for the tired men, but Jon barely tasted it. He randomly and distractedly threw together a few things in his apartments, then spent the remainder of the time having Rizzo refresh his memories about blasters.

"Jon?"

Close to time to go, Dormé called him from Sabé's office. Jon hadn't asked her what she'd been doing in there, but she'd seemed focused on something, and he hadn't interrupted.

"What is it?" he asked, stepping in the room.

"I think…" she began hesitatingly, "I know why Laicha kidnapped Saché."

"What?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Saché somehow managed to send her work to Sabé's computer, using some of the tricks Yané taught us back on Naboo. Maybe you'd better take a look at this."

Dormé was right. Saché had mapped everything out exactly. "She thinks the glowquartz, the scandal at Bakurcom, Laicha… they're all connected," he realized blandly. So that was it. Saché and accidentally stumbled upon the answer to these mysteries, and had paid the price for his blind faith in his assistant.

He straightened from the computer, put his hands on his head for a moment. Then, with a suddenness that caused Dormé to jump, he kicked the wastebasket as hard as he could against the wall. "I never should have let her get involved!" he shouted to the air. This was followed by several loud, flustering attempts to find the perfect insulting words to describe Laicha. He couldn't really think of anything quite appropriate enough, but one of Sabé's paperweights also met an unpleasant end against the wall, at which point Dormé began surreptitiously moving things out of his reach. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he balled his hands into fists, pressing his knuckles hard into his forehead.

The commotion had drawn Rizzo and Immen, who stood amazed outside the doorway, unsure of what to say. Jon stood like that, tense and angry, for several uncomfortable moments, until Dormé placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

"We'll get her back, Jon."

"Are you going to be okay, man?" Rizzo asked hesitatingly.

"No," Jon said dully, allowing himself to relax slightly at Dormé's touch. He looked at Rizzo squarely. "Saché is everything to me, Immen. If I lose her, I lose my world, okay?"

Rizzo's eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. "Okay, Jon. We'll find her."

Jon gave a heavy, determined sigh. "And once we do, I swear to whatever power is out there that I'm never letting her go again."

* * *

**Reviews:**

**Aikaze**- Haha, yes, and I think Richard will probably use Réka's ignorance to somehow exact revenge, but I'm not sure how, just yet…

**vegetakitten**- Thanks! It's okay, I don't update often enough anyway. LOL

**Caprice**- Hope the wait was worth it for you.

**RivendellWriter**- As you can see, we finally got back into Obi-Wan's head for a bit. Hope you're satisfied. ;-)

**Kristiana**- Yeah, I had to get Padmé offworld to try and leave AotC as untouched as possible, sorry. Anyway, I don't really think there was room for her! LOL

**Moryan**- Darth Vader breathing noises, eh? LOL! That's hilarious. Thanks for that really great review!

**ramblings**- lol, that's a very interesting but gratifying compliment. Thank you. If you happen to be a Stargate fan, I can point you to one of my favorite AU stories.

* * *

**A/N:**Okay, yeah, it's a very melodramatic ending, I know. ;)

The pieces of this story are rapidly spiraling together, as you can undoubtedly begin to see.

Anybody else besides me a little annoyed with Claria? I mean, come on… what was the poor boy _supposed_ to think:p Anyway, that rather, um… tries to think of a good euphemism… _enthusiastic_ kissing scene was a collaboration of both authors. ;)

Until next time! (however long it may be)

Saché 


	13. Love Unsought

**Chapter Thirteen** – _Love Unsought_

It wasn't exactly easy to follow someone discreetly across the open, lonely plains of Rial. But Richard, being Prince and King-elect of the planet, had certain resources at his disposal that eliminated the need. It took a couple of days for the materials that he'd requested from Theed to arrive, but as soon as they did, he and Yvenne were quick to put them to use.

"This really feels like it was too easy," Yvenne remarked. They sat in her office the following evening.

"Yeah…" said Richard slowly, fiddling with some settings on his datapad before setting it down so that Yvenne could see the display as well. "Maybe."

"Think it'll come back to bite us?" she asked concernedly.

"Now you're just borrowing trouble," Richard said, grinning back at her.

"You know, I'm not sure it inspires confidence that my future king seems familiar with this kind of stuff."

"Boss, when you live your life in the shadow of palace security…"

"Okay, okay."

Yvenne was right. It _had_ been easy. Very easy to plant a tiny homing device in Mirak's saddle— in each of his saddles. They never could be sure which he'd prefer on a given day, Yvenne had said. He was finicky that way.

This evening, just as they'd been finishing up their last chores for the day, the man himself had come storming in, snapping at hands left and right, slinging his gear onto his mount so violently, Richard half-feared he would damage the delicate circuitry now concealed within. Richard and Yvenne had both tried to remain calm and act normally, which in Yvenne's case meant putting up with Mirak's abuse of her staff and the tusk-cats with stoic indifference. As soon as they'd finished their work, though, they were anxious to set up their tracking equipment.

"And now we get to find out where his crankiness has been sneaking off too," Richard said eagerly.

"It's not like there are that many places for him to go," Yvenne added sardonically.

Richard smiled a little. "Right."

The display showed a very basic representation of the surrounding area, and a red flashing dot that was Mirak. "He's heading south," Yvenne commented, leaning forward slightly. "To the lake."

"What makes you think the lake?"

"Okay, I don't. But it makes the most sense."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

They watched the red dot for a long time, while Yvenne kept some notes about Mirak's trail on a paper beside her on the desk. As this required very little effort, the tide of their conversation eventually drifted to other things.

"Arath doesn't seem like the others," Richard observed, eyeing her carefully. He'd been dying to talk with her about her family, but wasn't entirely sure how she'd welcome him broaching the subject.

Yvenne paused in her notation and looked up at him, her brown eyes very serious. Then, to his relief, she smiled slightly. "Yes," she said. "Arath is a good friend."

"I just don't get it," Richard said, walking away from Yvenne's desk and looking through the window to the main house, just visible across the way in the darkening evening. "There are people like Lord Resitan in Theed, too, you know. Concerned with lineage and bloodlines over character. I've _never_ understood it." He shook his head and glanced at Yvenne. "Or why children should suffer for their parents' mistakes."

"They partly are just pompous nerfs," Yvenne agreed noncommittally, causing Richard to laugh. He'd never heard her talk like that before. "But I also don't think they ever understood my mother," Yvenne confessed. "True, she and my aunt weren't from old money or an established family, but they weren't poor. And yet she left all that for a radical dream. It perplexes them."

"Do you ever wonder what your life would've been like had she lived?"

Yvenne tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and screwed up her face in concentration, staring at the screen and her page, but Richard noted she wasn't writing anything. "Every day," she said, in a would-be nonchalant voice. "Honestly, I have no way of knowing what kind of person she was. She never left me a message or a journal, or a dress or a necklace like you'd see in those sappy holos." Yvenne looked up, tapping her pen thoughtfully on the paper, and looking as though something had occurred to her for the first time. "Who knows? Maybe she wasn't that much better."

"So why isn't Arath like the rest of his family?"

Yvenne shook her head. "You know, I've always wondered that too. I have no idea. Some people are just disposed to goodness, I guess."

He turned from the window and gave her a smile. "In that case, you must be one of them too," he said.

Once again Yvenne's hand faltered in her work, and she blushed. Richard studied her for a moment, realization overtaking him. Was Yvenne attracted to him? He'd spent a lot of time around girls, and Yvenne was definitely not the type to blush like _that_ without cause. She'd done so before, but he'd thought it was because he'd been mildly embarrassing her, like at the Firstfall ball. 

_On the other hand, you weren't very right about Réka, were you?_

Richard wasn't quite sure what to say. His sisters might have, being women. Instead, he stepped uncomfortably back to the desk and looked at the monitor. There, he was relieved to find distraction there. "He's stopped," Richard observed.

"So I see."

"Do you know what that is?"

"If I'm reading this right, it's right in the middle of nowhere. That doesn't make any sense. What on Naboo is he doing?

"What do you say we find out?"

"Okay. But it'll have to be tomorrow. We're due for a sensor check anyway. No one will be the wiser."

"Good thinking. In the meantime," Richard added. "I'd better get up to the house for dinner before anyone gets suspicious of me hanging out here too much."

"We wouldn't want that, would we? You can't enjoy hanging out with stinky little me, after all," Yvenne said, laughing.

"Of course not," Richard replied, also laughing, shaking his head.

As his footsteps carried him from the dirty stables to the immaculate house, however, he wondered at how part of him had wanted to give a different answer.

And not in jest.

* * *

Saché Drianna supposed she should thank her lucky stars that she was bored. By all rights, she should have been afraid, hungry, tired, in pain or distress, but the truth was, she'd suffered worse during her brief captivity with the battle droids back on Naboo eight years ago.

And so she was bored. Laicha certainly hadn't given her a chance to bring any entertainment when they'd made their hasty departure, and she wasn't allowed to move about the ship at her leisure. She'd vaguely considered trying to overcome her captor— they were the only ones on board— but Saché wasn't really much of a pilot. She'd probably get herself killed trying to control the ship once they emerged from hyperspace, presuming she could gain the upper hand.

She stared at the space above the bunk in the cabin Laicha had assigned her, drummed her fingers on her stomach, and wondered how the stains on the wood trim edging the bulkhead had come to be there. She also wondered for the thousandth time where they were going. They'd been in hyperspace for probably over two days now, but it was hard to estimate without a chrono.

She thought of Jon, a twinge of worry seizing her. By this time he and Dormé would have realized she was missing. What would they do? Would they know how to find her? Would she ever see them again? She had to trust that she would. She only wished there were some way she could assure them that she was okay.

Part of the reason Saché felt little fear was because of Laicha herself. She didn't seem to be a very good villain, as villains in Saché's experience went. Though she had managed to get this far, Saché got the feeling she really didn't know what she was doing or what to do next.

One thing was plain. Saché's life, or anybody else's, for that matter, had not been in danger as long as the glowquartz secret remained just that. Laicha was not a cruel woman. For the most part, Saché had been fed and ignored. It was a curious situation.

A slight shudder of the cabin around her marked the emergence of the ship from hyperspace. Saché sat up quickly, alert to the change in the situation. Though she had been the least of Amidala's handmaidens when it came to combat and security scenarios, Captain Panaka had nevertheless been an excellent teacher. She sat, poised and listening for a moment, trying to gauge what was going on and wishing she had a viewport of some kind.

It was some time before Saché felt the ship land. She clung nervously to the edge of the bunk, heart beating a little faster, nervous despite her earlier reflections. Somehow, her ignorance of her surroundings was far more terrifying than any danger she'd ever faced straight on. Maybe now she could look for an opportunity to escape.

The cabin door slid open before Saché had time to formulate any plan of action and Laicha once more had her at blasterpoint. "We're staying here for a little bit," she informed Saché, nonplussed. Since her initial unmasking, Laicha had calmed down somewhat. "I'm waiting for a friend. I commed him from orbit; he'll be here soon. He'll know what to do with you. Are you hungry?" With one hand, she pulled a ration bar out of her jacket and tossed it to Saché, who caught it and began neatly pulling away the wrapper.

"Where are we?" Saché asked calmly, wondering if nonchalance would prompt the girl into being more forthright.

"Rial."

Saché's head shot up. "We're on Naboo?" she said, eyes wide with amazement.

"No use hiding it. You'll know as soon as we step outside."

Rial. Saché had never been to the remote prairie lands of Naboo's southern hemisphere.

_Prince Richard is in Rial._ The thought flittered through the back of her mind. Not that it meant much— the plains were vast and sparsely settled— but for some reason being on Naboo gave her more hope than anything.

"Laicha, why are you doing this?" she finally dared to ask. "Don't you know how many lives glowquartz has already ruined?"

"The money's good," Laicha said levelly.

Saché frowned, and picked at her ration bar with delicate fingers. "I would have thought you were making a pretty tidy living as Jon's assistant," she observed, confused. Then again, she conceded internally, greed knew no limits.

"Jon paid well, yes," Laicha said.

"Then how could you betray him like this?" Saché asked.

"I'm _not_ betraying him," Laicha insisted forcefully. "Jon, Bakurcom, you… it's all incidental. I care about someone else more. A woman would do almost anything for love. Surely you must know that by now."

Saché paused in her eating to stare at the woman incredulously. It was a good thing her mouth was full, because it gave her a minute to think and swallow before replying. "Almost," she echoed cautiously. "Someone put you up to this?"

"Someone asked me, yes. And I'd do anything for him."

"Yes, you said so."

"You seem to be pretty cozy with the boss. You must know what I mean."

Saché tried her best to stay neutral. She was partly annoyed with the attitude in the other woman's words, but if Laicha knew for sure that she was in love with Jon, it could create all sorts of nasty complications. She wasn't sure how much point it would be trying to hide it, though. There was a reason she didn't play sabaac with Yané and Moteé. Finally, she met Laicha's eyes. "There is a great deal I would willingly do for love." Her eyes fell on the woman's reluctant blaster and she added, "but there are also things that true love would not demand."

Any reaction on Laicha's part to this observation was cut short by the sounds of footsteps approaching. "Laicha?" called a deep, inquisitive male voice.

"In here!" Laicha called, staring at Saché with determined features.

A moment later a young man appeared, probably about Jon's age, with dark hair and wild eyes. "Baby, what are you doing here?" he asked, focusing on Laicha.

"Mirak," she breathed, and stepped in, pulling him close by his shirtfront and kissing him with rather surprising force. Mirak the stranger returned the gesture wholeheartedly, and the whole experience was more than just a little bit odd for Saché, as Laicha was still pointing the blaster at her. It might have been a good opportunity to make a run for it, but the amorous couple was doing a very effective job of thoroughly blocking the doorway.

When they broke off, the man named Mirak looked at Saché with open interest. "Laicha?" he prompted.

"We have a problem," she said. "This is a friend of Bakuro's. She found out."

"Found out about what?"

"Everything."

* * *

Sabé didn't see much of the Jedi the day after Anakin's untimely incarceration. On Ben's orders, she stayed with Dooji on the ship, helping him confirm his research. Later, Master Caine and Helaine returned, escorted Sabé back to their apartments in the city, and promptly left her to herself again.

She couldn't help but marvel at how age affected the way someone perceived a situation. When she'd first known Anakin, he'd pulled a stunt like this, slipping out from under the supervision of Saché and Yané to follow the combat group on their way to storm the palace in the Battle of Naboo. He'd only been a child then, and the act had been somewhat endearing, especially after his presence had proven instrumental to the Naboo victory. Now she could sense, however, that none of them, herself included, was the least bit amused.

Much later that evening, a quiet knock on Sabé's bedroom door woke her from a light doze. She slipped on a robe and answered it, bleary-eyed. "Ben?" she greeted with a half yawn.

"I'm sorry to wake you, Senator," he said formally.

"No, it's okay. What's the matter?" she asked, stepping softly out into the hallway to join him. "Is Anakin all right?"

He turned with a heavy sigh and took a seat on a nearby chaise that divided the length of the corridor in half. "He's fine. I haven't seen him. I've been assessing the situation all day." His shoulders were heavy.

Sabé took the place across from him, studying him with concern. "What did he do, anyway?"

"From what I can gather," Ben said, 'just the usual. Getting a little to cocky and a little too pushy as a Jedi." He sighed. "I'm going after him tomorrow," he added, very seriously. "I wanted to ask for your help."

"Of course."

"I have no right to ask, I know," he continued in a rush. "It isn't your fault he behaved so foolishly, but I think our chances are better—"

"Ben," she interrupted, laughing lightly and blinking a couple of times to clear the lingering haze from her vision. "It's all right. What do you need me to do?"

"Be distracting."

Sabé smiled. "Easy enough."

"Especially for you."

She caught it then. A slight, shocked widening of his eyes, which he quickly and subversively downcast. But then he raised them again, and met her own. Perhaps it was the effect of tired bodies and too little sleep, or the combination of dim lamplight and late evening. Whatever it was, something flitted in Sabé's middle— a warmth, a certainty, and suddenly, beyond all her ability to explain, she _knew_.

_In the eyes of a friend is found the greatest love unsought._

The verse floated to the surface of her memory, a line from one of Naboo's oldest poems. Though Sabé had always understood it as written, she now found herself connecting with the poet in a very vivid way. Ben was… well, he was kindness, warmth, and trust. A warrior, shrouded in his stoic armor, considerate, just, and beautiful. Close enough to touch, yet farther away than the stars. However unattainable, though, Sabé could no longer deny her feelings for him. And though the thought was almost frightening, she was fairly certain she'd seen a glimpse of something returned.

When she couldn't hold his gaze any longer, Sabé looked uncomfortably away. She stubbornly wove her fidgeting fingers together.

"Why do you call me Ben?" he finally asked.

"'Send my letters care of Ben at Foley Park'," Sabé quoted automatically, smiling a little, dallying with memory.

He smiled too, his ancient eyes flashing back in time. "I remember," he said, "but it's not my name."

Sabé freed her fingers, and focused on picking at a stray thread in the cuff of her robe, no longer able to look at him as she spoke. "It is to me," she finally said. "I mean, I know that nobody else calls you that," she rambled on, "but I liked it. I didn't want to change. It's special to me. _You're_ very special to me." Her stomach was in her rapidly beating heart as she spoke.

_If your Force tells you anything…_

When she could bear the silence no longer, Sabé dared a glance at him, only to see him staring at the floor rather sadly. He must have sensed her scrutiny, for he looked up and gave a small, kind smile. "I rather like the name myself," he said.

Sabé exhaled slowly and softly as Ben continued speaking. He changed his tone of voice to one more practical, and said "We're going to try and stick to our cover story for the purposes of this rescue, though I'm pretty sure by now some of the people involved will be suspicious of me."

"Why?"

"Anakin was attempting to investigate that shipping hub I told you about. I'm not sure what he did, but my instincts are telling me this operation is fairly well-organized. Almost certainly some of the government officials are involved, or are at least turning a blind eye."

"And they know you've been poking around."

"Right. And if they know Anakin is a Jedi—" Ben began.

"—they'll be on the lookout for more," Sabé finished. "I see. Well, where do I come in?"

"I need you to take Anakin his lightsaber." Ben reached into the breast of his tunic and pulled out the weapon, holding it out to her. Sabé took it somewhat warily. 

"How did you get this?" she asked.

"Master Caine managed to slip it out from under the bailiff's nose when he was first informing her of the situation. He'll probably get in trouble, and they'll be on the watch for Master Caine now, as well. Which is why she'll be piloting the ship for this venture."

"How am I supposed to give this to Anakin?" Sabé asked, skeptically. "Won't they search me first?"

"Yes. Don't worry. I'm going to help you. Here's what we're going to do."

Sabé devoted her whole attention to his words, determined not to let him down, and tried to bury the ache of longing that had grown within her heart.

* * *

"Now that is very interesting," Richard remarked.

"Yeah, I'd say so."

He turned. Yvenne sat beside him on her own mount, squinting in the sunlight that had found a break between the clouds. He passed the binoculars back to her and she accepted them, using them to peer once more at the surprising sight that had met them where Mirak Resitan's trail had ended the night before. A ship, nondescript and serviceable, settled oddly in the middle of the plain as the wind whipped dust about it. "I don't suppose you recognize it," he said.

"Not a clue," Yvenne informed him. "Come on, let's check it out. It's going to rain soon." With a soft sound and a nudge of her heels, she coaxed her cat into motion. Richard followed suit, though not quite as gracefully. He looked up worriedly at the clouds. They _had_ been growing steadily thicker and heavier as the afternoon had worn on. There was a hazy gray to them that was on the edge of powerful and ominous.

"I don't think it's just going to rain," Richard observed, nudging Brégo to speed up till he'd caught up with Yvenne . "Looks like a full blown storm is coming."

"Yes, it's getting into that season," she replied noncommittally.

"Maybe we should head back and check this out later," Richard suggested. They'd finished their sensor sweep— the third they'd done since his arrival.

Yvenne looked over at him and grinned. "Are you afraid of the rain, Your Highness?"

"No," he replied in a mild huff.

She laughed. "I should hope not."

It was surprisingly easy to board the vessel. Whoever had left it here— and it appeared to be abandoned, for the moment— had obviously not been too concerned with its discovery. It was small— a cockpit, a galley, two cabins, a refresher, and an engine room. "Now what?" Yvenne asked as they returned to the cockpit. "This isn't really telling us much."

"I agree," Richard said, taking a seat in the pilot's chair. "Time to dig a little deeper." He deftly flipped a couple of switches, lighting up the computer board.

"And we're back to the subversive would-be king of Naboo," Yvenne observed dryly.

"You're the one who wanted my help, boss."

"Point."

After a few moments of browsing, Richard came upon what he wanted to find. "Ship's designation, 773-J512, class B. Personal transport. Registered to Laicha Kova, Naboo."

"Where did it come from?"

Richard played a bit more with the system. "According to the navicomputer, it came from Coruscant, and then directly to Rial from orbit."

"Coruscant? That's _really_ odd."

"Why should it be?"

"I don't know," Yvenne seemed puzzled. "No offense, Richard, but what interest can the capital possibly have in Rial?"

"It's a big galaxy."

A sudden beeping from Yvenne's pocket caused them both to jump slightly. She scrambled for the transmitter there, and checked it briefly. "Shoot," she muttered. "We have to get going. It looks like Mirak's on his way back here. Shut down the computer. We'll have to come back later, I guess."

Richard complied, and together they made a hasty exit. They were halfway back to the hatch when a strange sound surrounded them, a loud, hazy, pattering roar. Together they paused, instinctively looking at the bulkhead above them. "Terrific," Yvenne muttered. "Now it's raining."

Sure enough, the outdoors had become a mass of misty gray. "We have to hurry!" Yvenne called over the roar. "With a downpour like this, the river will be a torrent before long."

Richard nodded, rushing out into the storm and mounting his slippery saddle as best he could, blinking rainwater out of his eyes, which dripped from his already sodden hair. He managed to keep pace with Yvenne fairly easily this time. "Will Mirak try to cross the creek now?" Richard asked loudly. He was wondering if maybe they could risk hanging around in the ship. 

Yvenne shook her head. "I don't know," she called back. "He's stupid enough for anything. Better not take the chance."

"All right."

She looked over at him then, water streaming down her face liberally. "River's not far off," she said, pointing ahead. The tree line that had previously marked the body of water was invisible now in the gray of the storm. Yvenne grinned through the rain. "I'll race you!"

Richard was caught utterly off guard by the sudden, youthful excitement in her eyes. There was something primal about the storm. Something that stirred him on the deepest level. And something about deep brown eyes alight with vigor and fire, a girl who could change from levelheaded to reckless at the turn of a credit. She was saturated from head to toe, red hair plastered around her face, and those eyes were laughing at him.

"Is it safe?" he finally called back, teasing. He found he wanted to find out what would happen if he deliberately baited her.

To his extreme delight, she laughed again. "Nerf!" she cried. Then, "Hiyah!" and she was off.

Grinning, Richard urged Brégo in pursuit.

As anyone could have predicted, Yvenne reached the choked, frothing river long before Richard did. When he caught up with her, she had dismounted, and was holding Nala's reigns, staring at the rushing water in concentration. Richard also dismounted, and she turned and looked back at him. "It's about time," she teased. Then she sighed. "We're going to have to walk the cats across," she said, pointing upstream slightly to where a natural ledge of sorts made a spillway from a higher part of the stream. "We can use the dam to help us keep our footing. We have to hurry, before it gets worse."

They reached the right spot on the riverbank. Already the banks were masses of squelching mud, and Richard was thankful for the practical work boots that came with the job. "You go first," Yvenne instructed, nodding at the far bank. "Nala's being unusually skittish. If she sees Brégo cross successfully she might be easier to handle." 

Richard nodded and exhaled hard, spraying water away from his lips, and wiping water out of his eyes. Then he took one careful step into the water.

It was tricky work, but Yvenne had been right. An ancient, half-embedded tree trunk formed the ledge of the spillway, and the water wasn't as deep as it looked. The trunk formed a barrier of sorts against the surging power of the flood, so that Richard progressed slowly but with some measure of security. He held Brego's bridle close, his fist just under the beast's neck, the great cat's breath hot on his shoulder, and water from his jowls dripping onto Richard's collar. This was in some ways a good deal more unnerving than the flood and the storm.

When he reached the opposite side, he scrambled to the more stable grass-enforced higher ground, tied Brego firmly to a nearby tree, and turned to help Yvenne as best as he could. She was already halfway across when he came back to the shore, and he could see what she'd meant about Nala being skittish. He felt a momentary regret, not for the first time, that Yvenne's Leda was still ill, who was utterly trusting and compliant with anything Yvenne asked of her.

When Yvenne was close enough, Richard planted his feet as firmly as he could in the muddy bank and reached out a hand to help her. Just as his fingers closed around hers, there was a terrific shaft of lightning, accompanied almost immediately by a crack of thunder, which felt like it was almost on top of them.

Nala roared in fright, and reared back. Richard tightened his hold on Yvenne desperately, pulling her all the way towards him very fast. Yvenne cried out in pain as they tumbled together to the mud. Richard half-scrambled to his feet, seizing Yvenne under the arms and pulling her up high enough that the stream wouldn't whisk her away, until he lost his footing slightly, and slipped back down into the mud, practically pinning Yvenne in place. Nala too had managed to reach the bank, but no sooner did her paws touch it than she bolted up over the edge and shot off across the stormy plains.

"Oh great," Richard said, watching the tusk cat's terrified retreat.

"It's okay," Yvenne breathed heavily beneath him. "She'll turn up somewhere. She's tagged, in any case."

Richard turned his attention to her. "Are you all right?"

Yvenne winced, and shook her head. "I twisted my ankle pretty badly, I think. It was stuck in the mud when Nala reared."

"Can you walk?"

"Well, um," Yvenne winced again, and swallowed. "No, probably not."

He made the mistake of looking into her eyes then. She was still breathing hard. Though the rain still pounded all around them, it suddenly seemed hushed and otherworldly, and Richard was suddenly conscious of nothing but her closeness. What in the name of stars was happening to him? Not one day ago, Yvenne had been nothing more than a smart and fun woman, almost like one of his sisters more than anything else. _Now_ she was nothing more than a hair's breadth away from something he very much wanted to do.

And he did.

Cold, sweet rainwater only heightened the taste and feel of her mouth. He kissed her slowly, but fully, and though she seemed surprised at first, she gave no objection. Richard wondered at her timidity— confident, capable Yvenne. Every other girl he'd ever kissed had been in Theed, or sometimes Coruscant, though both places combined had only been a handful all together. And Réka, of course, but she was only the last in a string of superficiality. Pristine hallways, idyllic gardens, tailored garments. It was more than fitting, he realized, though he never would have dreamed it, that he would romance Yvenne this way, so close to the earth, the elements, up to his elbows in mud, with honesty that was so much a part of the fascinating woman he now realized she truly was.

Yvenne shifted underneath him, and then suddenly made a sound of pain in her throat. She pulled away abruptly and the spell was broken. "Ow!" she cried, sounding very annoyed. Richard didn't blame her. He was rather annoyed himself.

"Guess we should get going," he said, grinning reluctantly.

"You think?"

With no small degree of difficulty, he managed to get her to her feet, one of her arms wrapped tightly about his shoulders. Getting her onto Brégo's back was even more of an adventure, but he managed, then swung carefully into place behind her. Their progress back to the ranch was much slower than it ought to have been, but they didn't speak the entire time. He smelled the half wet, half muddiness of her hair as her head rested against his back and wondered why she was so quiet. He was almost terrified about what he'd done. As the storm lessened, it seemed almost as if it had been a dream. What did she think? Why didn't she say anything?

* * *

The effect of being indoors, of being warm, dry, and quiet, was very sobering to Yvenne Sorenst. They seemed to restore to her a measure of sanity, closely followed by uncomfortable terror.

The man she loved had kissed her— in such a place and manner that seemed to belong in a story. That was Richard, all right. The charming storybook prince.

Yvenne liked stories, but she'd never set much stock in applying them to reality. It was just the storm, she told herself. The adrenaline. The rushing, heady heat. By the stars it had been wonderful, but how was she really supposed to believe in it?

Now she stared dumbly at the ceiling in the ranch's small infirmary. Her uncle's medic had tended her injury, and her foot was carefully suspended in a sling at the foot of the bed. It was dark outside now. The rain that had heralded in the wet season had been intermittent all afternoon.

When Richard walked in, she wasn't surprised, but she was nervous all the same. He had changed into fresh clothing, and his hair was still damp from a shower. To Yvenne's surprise it was starting to curl a little, giving him a boyish look.

_Too young to be a king_, she thought, not for the first time.

He carried with him a tall, thin carafe and a mug. "Thought you might like something hot to drink," he said, pouring the steaming akali as he spoke. She could smell it all the way across the room.

"I'm not that thirsty," Yvenne protested.

"Too bad," the Prince replied, grinning. He'd reached her bedside now, and handed her the warm mug. "My mother swore by this stuff if someone was sick. Sabé swears by it every day."

"Sabé?" Yvenne asked curiously, accepting his pampering without comment. She glanced at the familiar dark, clear red liquid but did not drink.

"My sister. Princess Vána."

"Oh." It was the first time he'd ever spoken to her of his family, in any capacity. "Are you very close to your sisters?"

"I am," he said, nodding. He folded his arms on the edge of her bed and smiled. "I've always been closer to Sabé than the others, though," he said. "We're both the same degree of selfish."

Yvenne laughed softly, despite herself. "You're not selfish where it counts, prince."

He offered a lopsided, knowing smile. "I notice you didn't deny it fully."

Yvenne smiled again. At a lull in the conversation, she awkwardly took a sip of the akali. Were they just going to pretend it hadn't happened?

Richard seemed thoughtful. At last, he said slowly, "Well, if anyone knows about selflessness— or a lack of it— I guess it's you." He looked at her. "Do you know that old story about the girl who served in the kitchens? The one who married a Senator's son or something?"

"Brynn, the Alderaanian princess?" Yvenne supplied. "It was one of my favorites when I was little."

He nodded, and slowly reached over, brushing stray hair away from her cheek. "You remind me of her, Yvenne," he murmured. "Strong, capable of so much… you deserve more than what life's given you."

"My lord—" Yvenne began, stomach lurching at his touch. "About this afternoon—"

"And you let your guardians walk over you," he cut her off. "They ignore you, use you so horribly. Why do you let them, Yvenne?"

"—I really think we both need to get some rest. It's been a long day for us—"

She got no further than that, as Prince Richard was obviously keen on ignoring her advice and had instead kissed her again, something she had both longed for and feared since he'd come.

But while Yvenne could accept that Richard had relinquished all interest in Réka, but she could not accept that his affections had turned so completely to her in such a short time. As much as she wanted to simply follow his lead, she would not allow herself to be a falling place.

She pulled away, turned her face from him, and swallowed, not meeting his eyes.

The fullness of her resistance must have been evident. Richard was silent a moment, a silence most strained. "What's the matter?" he asked quietly.

She closed her eyes and mustered her courage. "Why are you doing this?"

"What?" He sounded a bit disbelieving. "I'm sorry, if you didn't want— I never met to impose—"

"No," she injected, softly but firmly. She looked at him again. "That's not what I mean. Why—?" She exhaled softly a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. It seemed such a silly thing to put into words. "Why would you want— I'm not like Réka, or Theed girls, or—"

"Does that matter?" he frowned. "I told you that doesn't matter, Yvenne. And to answer your question, I kind of like you."

"And you're just realizing this now?" she asked skeptically.

"Yes, is that so hard to believe?"

"Actually… it is." And his expression of incredulity, she plowed on, "Not that I think you're insincere, Richard, but— it's too fast. I'm not going to be your rebound just because I'm the most convenient woman on hand."

He pulled back, looking angry now. "My _rebound_," he repeated. "Is that what you think?"

Yvenne had lost any words and a good portion of her courage at his discontent. She'd never been on the receiving end of anything negative from Richard Naberrie. Suddenly, he didn't seem so young anymore.

After another sickening pause, Richard stood up abruptly. "Well, if that's how you feel about it," he said formally, gathering his composure, "I guess we'll just stay friends, boss." Though there was nothing vicious or bitter in the appellation, it also lacked the warm humor that he usually had when he spoke with her. Yvenne closed her eyes again, pained.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said. "Torak's going to need a lot of instructions to fill in for you over the next few days."

She opened her eyes again and nodded stiffly at him. "Yes, thank you."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Richard."

The rain might have served for her tears that night, had Yvenne been one prone to crying. But she was strong. She would not weep over her own common sense doings.

* * *

**Replies**:

**Sky of Blue**- Claria was deluding herself, I think. She had a rosy idea of Ceidron that she was hoping he wouldn't break.

**Caprice**- Thanks! For both your review and your patience.

**Moryan**- Yes, exactly. A mix of fault on both sides. Bravo! (waves to sister). Darth Vader breathing is probably all the more fun in the wake of RotS, eh? LOL Also, the words to the song your quoted do not belong to Mercy Me (though I'm sure the group does them justice— I've not heard this recording). The words are a famous Irish Blessing for farewells. I sang one of many musical adaptations when I was in high school choir. It's a very widely known and used verse.

**Furlings are Cats**- Long wait, I know. Trying to spread myself fairly over several projects. Richard is going to do some things that surprise even himself.

**Sydney Bristow**- Just out of curiosity, when did you read this story before? LOL Because this is the first I've ever posted it.

**Eruannelaviriel**- Oh, all wicked authors like to write peril. I'm honestly surprised you've not encountered more. Mwuahaha.

**ramblings**- I don't think Obi-Wan was terribly surprised, either. LOL

**Sweet A.K**- Thank you! I'm particularly fond of the interwoven plots myself. The connections were fun to invent. Strangely, the Sabewan romance in this story is the most subtle, because I'm adamant that I can't just change Obi-Wan's character 180 degrees. You'll see more of it, but slowly.

**Jazzcat**- Nice to see you in a Galaxy Far, Far Away! Each of your ever-lovely reviews was a delight to read. If you like an overabundance of romance, I suggest **padawan lunetta**'s stories about Helaine (Lainey). I do not believe she has them posted here, though. You'd have to track them down at the Jedi Council Forums at theforce dot net. Her stories also continue story of this AU Naberrie family, including (primarily) Richard and Sabé's descendants. As for the Jedi code, it seems that growing up in a traditional family of some kind would give a Jedi Padawan too much emotional attachment to specific people, which in turn can cloud judgment when they're supposed to be impartial, and gives over to passionate behavior. Think of Anakin and his mother, and then with Padmé.

**Charlotte Temples**- I hope your withdrawal was not too severe and that you enjoyed the update!

**JediKnightPadme**- Thanks for your compliments. I put a lot of thought into my four main storylines before I started writing this, so the tie-ups aren't random. I'm very pleased with the results, thank you. :-)

**EmeraldGreenQueen**- Stargate! (coughs) Um, yes. I'm a fan too. LOL Speaking of which, thank you for your review to _Amelia's Violin_. I am currently in the process of rewriting that story, and will then repost it. I had caught the Pangar/ Pangara mistake myself, but thank you nonetheless for pointing it out. Afterward, I'll start on the sequel, which I have big plans for, and am trying to give Daniel a good part in, since he didn't get to be in that one. :-) As for _this_ story and cliffhangers… I'm afraid getting so near to the climactic action means those will likely increase rather than not. LOL

**Frostfyre**- Thank you! Still posting this fic at the JC too.

**megara**- Anakin got himself arrested. He's crazy. LOL

**Ginny-Star**- Obi-Wan is just the height of all cool, isn't he? Hehe.

**Naberrie12**- Good for you! I hope you guessed right. Keep reading!

**chakashi**- Well, I guess the update wasn't too long in coming in your case. I must warn you, though, the next will probably be a ways off.

**MsRaven**- Hiya! Our Mutual Friend was to have told you of my posting at the JC due to FFN technical difficulties, but I do believe she got waylaid by Austen. LOL In any case, I'm thrilled as peaches to see you here, and thank you for your lovely compliments. The ultimate resolution of Sabé/ Ben is still a whole fic a way, I fear, but I hope you'll enjoy the ride. :-)

* * *

**A/N:** So. Just out of curiosity... has anyone read any mudbank mush _before_ this? LOL.

Tune in next time (whenever it may be)!

Saché 


	14. Spiral

**Chapter Fourteen** – _Spiral_

_Jenispra_

The gold-link gown was not a creation of Danae Trilium's. Sabé had purchased the piece on a whim— she'd always been a little bit more daring than her sisters. Danae actually had far too great a sense of classiness to have designed the thing, and frankly, as Sabé felt the thick Jenispran air cloying to her highly-exposed neckline, she was glad nobody in her family could see her now.

The gown wasn't actually as heavy as it looked. Whatever alloy had been used in its construction—from some planet Sabé couldn't remember offhand— was just about as light as metal could be. There was even a matching headpiece, behind which Anakin's lightsaber was carefully nestled, her hair braided and twisted around it to keep it hidden. She'd told Ben that if it happened ignite, giving her an accidental trim, she very much hoped he was as in tune with the Force as he thought.

Clinking slightly, she rose to her feet, twisting a heavily-wrinkled handkerchief in her hands as a man she presumed to be the prison bailiff entered the room through the far doorway. Sabé looked grossly out of place in the drab, chipped room. Certainly the way the bailiff's eyes boggled at the sight of her gave good reason to believe Ben's rather superficial plan might work. What she really needed to do was keep these folks' attention on the go so that they didn't have much time to stop and think.

"Oh, sir!" she cried out in a half-sob as she approached the bailiff, not giving him any chance to make the first move. "Please, please would you allow me to see him? I don't have much time. My lord does not know I left my post today. If he returns prematurely, I'll be punished for my absence."

"The prisoner is not supposed to have visitors, Lady… Katana," the man said, trying to sound gruff and sympathetic at the same time.

Sabé twisted her handkerchief more tightly. "I know. Your sentinel told me," she said, nodding at the younger man, a slightly leaner version of the bailiff himself. They wore identical expressions in all things, it seemed. "I asked him to fetch you. Is there any way you'd be willing to make an exception?"

This was the main bit of the rescue that Ben was supposedly helping her with, though without him _being_ here it was hard to be sure if it was succeeding. "Your prisoner," Sabé began, leaning forward. The men leaned forward slightly too. "He's a _Jedi_," she whispered loudly.

That definitely caught their interest. The bailiff straightened and his eyes narrowed at her suspiciously. "A Jedi?" he repeated carefully, crossing his arms. "What makes you say that?"

"We're in _love_!" she wailed, flailing her hands as if giving up. She wished she was better at fake crying, but this was just going to have to be good enough. "He's only a Padawan Learner, but he ran away from the Jedi and entered into my lord's service to save me! He loves me so much. He never was a very good Jedi."

She collapsed into the hard chair she'd been sitting in a moment before looked up at the two men with eyes as big and watery and brown as she could make them. "I just want to see him," she implored. "To ask him what he wants me to do! We're going to run away together; that's what he was doing when he got arrested— trying to find a way for us to do it!

"If my master learns I was trying to run away, he'll surely send people out looking for me. I'm very valuable to him. I'm so scared!" With that, she buried her face in her hands and heaved deceiving sobs while she pushed as hard as she could with her thoughts, hoping Ben would be able to pick up her signal. She felt a little bit ridiculous. The Force might as well have been pepper gravy for all she could connect to it, but Ben _assured_ her he could sense her strong emotions as easily as Anakin's, so she simply had to trust him.

The seed she'd planted into the minds of two greedy souls was thus: Not just a Jedi, but a Jedi _runaway_ was in their grasp, as well as a helpless and valuable slave who'd wandered into their prison like a mouse in a trap.

She knew immediately when Ben's plan— or this part of it, at least— had succeeded. The bailiff seemed to become someone else entirely. "There now, sweetheart," he said in a crusty, sugary sort of voice not used to playing at kindness. "Of course you can see your young Jedi. I'll take you right to him."

He took her greedily by the arm and Sabé resisted the urge to recoil at his possessive touch. "Oh, thank you!" she cried, wiping at her eyes with trembling fingers. "He'll tell me what to do; I know he will."

"Mind you, he _is_ in prison," said the younger man, causing the bailiff to turn around and glare at him sharply.

"If that's nothing to the lady, that's nothing to you," the bailiff snapped.

"It doesn't matter," Sabé said confidently, as they led her through the back door into the rows of prison cells beyond. "The Jedi will come and get him out. He'll get in trouble, but when he's done with his punishment, he can run away again, and come and save me."

Sabé Naberrie would have probably snorted at this very silly declaration of confidence, just as the younger guard did some feet behind them, but Lady Katana was entirely too consumed with the prospect of seeing her beloved to notice anything else, not even the catcalls and queries being thrown at her from the sporadic cells they passed that were actually occupied. All the while, the bailiff asked her transparent questions about her master and her residence, which she answered with such complicity she decided the man must have the brain of an eopie.

"And here you are!" the bailiff announced after two flights of stairs and the third block of cells they'd walked through. There were no other prisoners on this level. Just Anakin, whom Sabé's eyes found immediately and communicated the briefest warning.

"Darling!" she cried, running forward. She extended her hands. Anakin accepted them, wisely keeping his face neutral. Sabé clutched them tightly, pressing one to her cheek in melodramatic sorrow. "I'm so happy to see you. I snuck away from Lord Tam's to come here."

"Won't he know you're here?" Anakin asked, concerned. He continued clutching one of her hands in his own, but reached out to touch the side of her face with the other. Sabé had to admire his ability to play along.

Seeing an opportunity, Sabé gave a ninny-like giggle. "No," she whispered, smiling for the first time since she'd entered the prison almost half an hour ago. "I checked in at the door with a different name. Lady Katana. Clever, wasn't it?" Though Anakin kept himself from a literal smirk, she could still see it in his eyes. Katana, Ben had informed her, was a code word for lightsaber.

"Very clever," Anakin agreed.

"All right love-birds," said the bailiff, stepping up and prying Sabé away. "That's enough of that. "Blevish, put her in a cell across the way."

Sabé whirled around. "What?" she asked in feigned confusion.

The bailiff grinned. "Wouldn't want to keep slaves from their masters now would we, my _lady_."

"But—"

"I promised you'd see him, didn't I? Well now you've seen him. Blevish!" Blevish took her by the arm exactly like his boss before him and dragged her to a cell diagonal to the one Anakin was in, just across the corridor. "Oh, and Blevish," the bailiff added, turning around and grinning. "Don't forget to search her person."

Sabé had expected this part of the process to come much earlier, but she was glad it had fallen out this way. She sent a wide-eyed look of panic and warning to Anakin and a second mental push to Ben. Not only would the whole effort be pointless if Blevish managed to stumble upon the hidden lightsaber, but she didn't relish the thought of his wandering hands, either.

"You don't need to search her," Anakin called out across the way the minute the door had thudded behind the retreating bailiff. He stepped close to his cell bars and stared at the deputy with a rather creepy stare. His voice was Force-laden, and Sabé was grateful she didn't have to witness this particular Jedi talent very often, much as it was benefiting her now.

Blevish looked up, kind of confused, between Anakin and Sabé. "I don't need to search her?" he repeated.

Anakin shook his head. "She's harmless. You didn't find anything."

"She's harmless. Nothing there," repeated Blevish, nodding satisfactorily.

When he was gone, Sabé sighed with relief and slumped against the bars wearily. "Am I ever glad I'm not an actress," she breathed.

"There are cameras in here," said Anakin, crossing his arms.

"I know," Sabé said, even as she reached up and began untangling her braids. "We're not staying long, but mostly the rest is up to you."

* * *

_Theed, Naboo_

"I'm sending you what little we were able to learn about the ship," Richard said, his holo-image wavering slightly. Claria twiddled the control mechanism, trying to improve the reception. She'd often wondered how, with intergalactic transmissions possible, a transmission from one side of the same planet to the other could still have such tiresome technical difficulties. "It's probably nothing, but something doesn't smell right with this Mirak guy."

"I'll check and see if anything's come out over com-cast," Claria advised. "It's odd that the ship wouldn't have checked in with Theed before landing."

"I agree." Richard paused, and something in his bearing changed. He seemed almost… sheepish.

"Was there anything else?" Claria prompted, sensing he needed a nudge.

He opened his mouth, and then the words came spilling out. "I have a question about Yvenne," he said.

"I know. We were just talking about her."

"Yes, but… this is something different."

It took Claria a full three seconds for the piece to click into place. "Oh…" she said slowly as realization dawned. "Not Yvenne's _problem_. You mean Yvenne _herself_."

"Yeah."

"Is something wrong?"

Claria was hard-pressed not to laugh in fond amusement at her brother. His stance made him look as though he were eight again, reluctant and perplexed. But she held her composure and he blunderingly explained, "Well, she's really a great woman. You know— smart, pretty, capable. And I thought she kind of liked me, but the problem is—" he faltered, and ran a hand through his hair confusedly. He gave heavy sigh. "I don't know," he confessed. "She thinks I'm insincere."

"Does she have reason to be?" Claria asked. Privately, she reflected that this Yvenne must be something impressive indeed, if she was making Richard act like such a schoolboy. She'd never seen him quite this way before, at least not for a very long time, and back then he hadn't been much interested in girls.

"No," Richard replied, a little too quickly. Then he winced, reflecting, and amended, "Well, maybe. From her point of view. But she's wrong."

Claria decided that discussing the intricacies of Richard's personal dilemma was not best suited for a holo call. She took the easy road out. "If she really does like you, Richard, then I'm sure she won't be too easy to convince. Just be sincere and _politely_ persistent. That's my advice. Though without knowing this Yvenne of yours personally, I can't be sure what she's really looking for."

He gave an embarrassed grin. "She's not _my_ Yvenne, Claria."

"Okay, whatever, little brother. Now scoot. I'll call you if I find anything out."

"All right. I'll talk to you later."

Claria sat back in her chair after the transmission ended, reflecting a moment on the strangeness of the ending conversation. Truth be told, she didn't really feel qualified to give anyone advice about romance these days. Not after her own spectacular failure.

She wasn't sure where Ceidron had gotten to. She hadn't seen him since that night in her quarters, the memory of which still left conflicted echoes in both her body and mind. She knew where to find him at the university, if she hadn't been too afraid to try. Wherever he was staying, she hoped he was playing it safe. Metti, at least, was still at the palace.

Claria rose to her feet and headed out of the communications center and down the hall. The security offices were probably the best place to start looking into this mystery ship Richard had discovered on the Rialdan plains. It had been good to hear from her brother. With all her siblings gone, the palace had felt very lonely, even despite the friends and attendants she had with her. It didn't change the fact that they just weren't family.

Of course, when Ceidron had been here, she hadn't been lonely at all. Far from it. Annoyed, she tried to push the thought away. Did every line of thought _have_ to lead back to him? Sure, he was smart and attractive. Sure, he stimulated her mind and challenged her on levels few had ever dared to try. Sure, he could make her breath catch with just so much as a sideways glance, but that didn't change the fact that—

_That what?_ her inner voice told her. _That he behaved with impropriety?_

Claria had always been a very honest person, even with herself. The fact remained that she'd known well and good Ceidron was a man of the galaxy, and he was _not_ the one who had invited himself into her bedroom.

Her own shame was far greater than any lingering anger she felt toward him, but the idea of finding a way to let him know was downright nauseating. Disgusted with her own cowardice and pride, Claria had been chasing herself in pointless mental circles for the past several days.

"Princess!"

The unmistakable tread of staffer boots pounded frantically behind her, and Claria turned to see a harried-looking tech officer rushing toward her. "I wasn't expecting to find you here," he panted, bowing as soon as he reached her. "There's an urgent call for you— a ship requesting immediate clearance to land in the palace hangar bay."

"A ship?" Claria repeated, confused.

"Yes, my lady. It's Mr. Jon Bakuro. He says it's urgent."

"Allow him to land," Claria said immediately. A worried knot had inexplicably formed in her stomach. "I'll meet him there."

* * *

Taking up work at the jazz café again had not, perhaps, been the most prudent course of action Ceidron could have taken. After all, depending on how desperate their mysterious criminals were, he could be taking a huge risk. On the other hand, another confrontation would have been a welcome distraction from his current frustrated malaise, and he might even learn something useful in the process.

After three days in which he practically worked himself to death, however, Ceidron remained unharrassed by cloak and dagger figures, but any and all valadrett playing set him on edge. It was definitely a good thing the café did not boast a clavaria, or he wouldn't have lasted, and probably would have broken something he would then have been obliged to pay for. His frustration with Naboo royalty had returned thrice as strong, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so sullen.

His foolishness grated at him. Claria Naberrie had proved that she, like every other woman in the galaxy, was as incomprehensible as the stars themselves. Women were perplexing to infinite proportions, he concluded. Nothing he ever did could possibly change that, and it was better that he didn't try.

It seemed these days he noticed the Naboo loyalty to their royal family even more than he had before. He couldn't scorn it anymore, but it did leave him feeling a little bit ill, like every one of them might find out about what he'd tried to do. This thought was far more frightening than the concept than potential criminals chasing him all over Theed. Fortunately, the common sense part of him told him he was just being skittish and paranoid.

He was a little bit angry at her. Though he would be the first to admit that no, he probably shouldn't have pushed as far as he had (he blamed the combined powers of music and enshrouding dimness and big brown eyes) but did she have to turn those eyes against him with such scathing accusation? As if he were no better than some cheap man-handler? True, he didn't take such a strict view of intimacy as it seemed the Naboo did (a lesson he'd learned a little too late), but Ceidron was not the type to offer himself to just anyone. Only twice before in his lifetime had he felt a connection with a woman to be _that_ strong, and never on this level. If she'd thought he approached such things casually then she did not know him at all, and therein lay his deepest grief.

So here he was, trying to work her out of his blood.

He was failing miserably.

When Metti found him, he was wiping glasses behind the bar and contemplating a nearby bottle of brandy out of the corner of his eye, wondering if chemical amnesia was an option. Not that he was _really_ considering it. He'd always made a lousy drunk, and no, it would not help him forget. He could sense by his friend's posture that this was more than just a social call. Metti's eyes scanned the room with purpose, and when they finally found Ceidron at the bar, his shoulders relaxed slightly in obvious relief.

"You didn't have class today. I had no idea how to reach you," Metti said. "Didn't expect to find you here— this was a last resort."

"What's up?" Ceidron asked, picking up another glass. Though he had nothing against his friend, he remained aloof. Last he'd known, Metti was still maintaining residence at the palace, though Ceidron had begun to suspect this was more because he was greatly enjoying the perks of royal hospitality— and the company of a slew of amicable handmaidens— than any lingering anxiety over his safety. In any case, as long as Metti stayed there, he was a symbolic connection to the flaxen-haired princess Ceidron was trying to recover from. Aloof he must therefore remain.

"I've been looking for you for almost two hours," Metti said. "Jon Bakuro just showed up from Coruscant."

Ceidron looked up sharply. "And?"

"He's got a huge lead on this smuggling thing," Metti said. "I figured you'd want to know about it."

"Really?" Ceidron paused in work.

"It's huge, Cee," Metti said gravely. He looked pale. "Much bigger than I'd ever—" he hesitated.

"What?" Ceidron asked. He put the glass down, now genuinely curious.

"Glowquartz. Bakurcom has been inadvertently used as a major pipeline in the trafficking of glowquartz."

Someone could have come along just then and tipped Ceidron over with a puff of wind. "Glowquartz?" he repeated dumbly. Of all the words in the galaxy, "glowquartz" and "Naboo" were probably two of the last he would have associated together. The planet was just too idyllic for such things as illicit drugs. Or so it seemed on the outside.

"There's more. Princess Elsinoré says she knows it's not your problem, but since you've done so much to help, you're welcome to come along, if you like."

"Come along?" Ceidron asked, brushing aside the desire to interpret any and all connotations of Claria's request.

"We're going to Rial. Apparently, a friend of theirs is in danger. The princess seems to think we can be of help."

* * *

_Jenispra_

Unfortunately, Ben's master plan had not counted on the sudden, unexpected arrival of a strange newcomer who seemingly had no problems whatsoever convincing the bailiff to allow him access to the prisoner. It had taken Anakin all of five seconds to cut both himself and Sabé free from their cells, but no sooner were they heading towards the far end of the cell-way, than the door opened again, admitting the bailiff, a still-confused Blevish, and a third man, richly and pompously dressed.

There was a stomach-wrenching moment of stillness, the sort that seemed to last forever, as the three shocked men stared back at the equally stilted pair of escapees. Walking in, the bailiff had been speaking to the newcomer with almost groveling enthusiasm, but both of them had quieted as soon as they'd spotted Sabé and Anakin.

Sabé knew that their appearance must have come as quite a shock. Not only was Anakin's lightsaber still fully blazing and thrumming slightly in the otherwise thick silence, but she had shed her confining gown and was now wearing nothing but the tight, low-cut, medium tan jumpsuit that had gone underneath it. In addition, her hair was down and flailing all over her shoulders and down her back, so that, instead of simple but refined Lady Katana, she probably looked more like a crazed wildcat.

Then the endless moment finally lapsed, and the bailiff was quick to draw his blaster. This presented no immediate threat, as Anakin's lightsaber just as quickly flashed into action, but it did leave them in something of a standoff. The only way out of the room was through the three men. There weren't even any windows.

"Perfect," Sabé muttered, doing her best to duck behind Anakin for cover.

"Sabé, I need a little help here!" She could barely hear Anakin over the din. He was right. Blevish seemed to finally be coming to his senses, and was reaching for his own weapon. Sabé knew the best chance they stood was to act quickly. Keeping to a sort of half-crouch, low to the ground, she barreled at the three men, hoping to catch Blevish off guard and prevent him from reaching the blaster. She was moderately successful, though he wasn't a small man, and rather than bowling him over, she really only managed to make him stagger. Still, the suddenness of her attack seemed to be opportunity enough for Anakin to dart forward, depose of the bailiff's weapon with a swift, almost blinding swipe of his blade, and chuck the man to his feet with a heave of the Force.

Sabé, meanwhile had tried to dart away from her own quarry, who did not take to being barreled at— however ineffectively— and was trying to immobilize her. Sabé did her best to kick and flail with something more than just randomness, privately thanking Panaka for what little progress he'd managed to get out of so unwilling a combat student as she had been.

Blevish had sunk to an ultimate low— yanking her hard by the hair— by the time Anakin managed to deal with him. Sabé reached up and clamped her hands onto her assailant's wrists, clinging on as tightly as she could manage until Anakin clubbed him expertly on the back of the head, causing both him and Sabé to tumble to the floor together. "Ow!" she cried, then began to extricate herself from the unconscious guard.

Meanwhile, the third man, the stranger, had not been idle. He'd been attempting to use the com to call security. Sabé wondered whether or not he'd succeeded, but there wasn't really anything to be done about it if she had. Anakin swept his lightsaber till the point rested beneath the man's chest. "I recognize you," he said darkly, taking two menacing steps forward. Sabé straightened slowly, watching the two and trying to tame her errant hair.

"How did the Jedi get involved in this?" the man shot back, eyes hard. He seemed respectful of the weapon pointed at him, but not as intimidated as Sabé would have been.

"If by 'this' you mean illegal smuggling of illicit drugs," Anakin pressed, closing with the blade until it was close enough to give the man a shave, "then I'm not going to answer your question, but I would like you to tell me how _you're_ involved."

"Anakin—" Sabé began with some reticence, "there isn't much time to—"

They were standing in the outer corridor now, near the stairwell, and right on cue, they could hear the pounding of boots and frantic orders welling up from below. Anakin, looking slightly frustrated, turned his head from the sound and glanced back at Sabé. "Fine," he said. "Up the stars. Run."

Sabé wasted no time obeying. It was three flights of stairs to the roof, but she had to stop and wait for Anakin when she got there, for the door was bolted tightly and effectively shut, and she had no way of getting around it. Being unarmed as she was made her feel almost more naked than her ridiculous attire.

Anakin was not long behind her, though she perceived they didn't have much time. "Now what?" he asked, almost to himself as he neatly sliced away the lock and kicked the door open.

"Now we hope our ride doesn't take too long," Sabé said matter-of-factly. She reached out with her mind and gave the last of her three scheduled mental shoves, already searching the skies.

Anakin paused to stare at her curiously. "What—?" he began.

Sabé gave a smug smile. "This was always our escape route, you know. You'd better help calling Ben," she added, tapping the side of her head with a wince. "I'm really not that good at it."

"Actually, you're better than you think," Anakin observed offhandedly. His eyes were distant. "They'll be here in about a minute." He took her by the upper arm and began hastening her away from the doorway. "Till then we have to hold our own. Stay with me."

Feeling like the whole sky was threatening them with its emptiness, Sabé ran with Anakin to the far end of the building, where a squat chimney-top offered a sort of cover. It proved much needed as about a dozen prison guards came spilling out of the doorway a moment later, dashing about madly and squinting in the unforgiving Jenispran sunlight. It was clear that until they changed their tactics, however, they weren't going to get anywhere near Anakin Skywalker, so Sabé kept wisely behind their barrier, huddled near Anakin's feet, with one eye on the skies.

The ship came up fast, but presented a problem. When Ben had conceived this plan, it hadn't included a roof full of blasters firing at them. Sabé shielded her eyes as the hatch opened. Whoever had released it, though, did not lower the ramp. Instead, the faces of both Helaine and Ben peered over the edge, and a moment later, a collapsible ladder came tumbling out of the hatch, the end landing three feet from Sabé.

Almost the same moment, Ben landed beside it, nimble as a feline, without so much as a grunt. His lightsaber already gleamed. "Up you get, Senator," he commanded sidelong to Sabé. He was already striding to assist Anakin in the fight.

Sabé turned and considered the ladder uncertainly for a moment. Then a shot ricocheted off the chimney not far from her, and she swallowed her doubts and grasped the nearest rung.

She found she hated climbing the stupid thing every bit as much as she thought she would. It wasn't that she was afraid of heights, but the ladder kept swaying about sporadically, and it was difficult to get a firm foothold. To make things even more nerve-racking, it sometimes felt like every blaster down below was being aimed at her. This wasn't the case; she knew Ben and Anakin were doing a superb job of keeping most of them occupied, but occasionally one or two managed to get a shot off.

She'd successfully managed about three-fourths of the rickety contraption when one of the shots found its mark. Well, maybe not its _intended_ mark, but it hit her solidly in the forearm nonetheless. With a painful cry, she lost her balance and found herself precariously clinging to the ladder with one hand and one foot only. Her terror was blinding, and for a few heart-wrenching moments, she was certain nothing remained for her but a sickening fall the unforgiving rooftop below her. She closed her eyes tightly, too panicked to try and fix her problem.

Then there was a sudden new weight on the ladder, and a strong, warm hand clasped firmly around her good arm. When Sabé opened her eyes, Ben was there, across from her and slightly above. "Sabé!" he called over the persisting din of battle below and the ship's engines above. "Hold on, I've got you. Just get your balance, come on." While Sabé was still trying to regain control of her senses, he looked up at the open hatch, which was now just a few tantalizing feet away. "Helaine!" he called to the young padawan still watching anxiously. Sabé could see now that Dooji had joined her. "Help me to steady the ladder with the Force!"

Helaine nodded, and there was a brief minute of inactivity as the two Jedi were obviously collecting their focus. _Steady the ladder_, Sabé thought to herself, annoyed. _Why didn't we think of that ourselves?_

A couple of seconds later, the metal ladder seemed to grow even heavier, and stiffer, as though rust had gathered in its joints and rendered them inert. Ben opened his meditating eyes and fixed them on Sabé. "You're going to have to climb, Sabé. I'll help you. Can you do it?"

The confidence in his expression was more than enough to banish her fear. In fact, she was quite certain she'd never felt more secure. "Yes," she said strongly, giving a firm nod.

He smiled. "All right, then. Here we go."

With Ben supporting her from the other side, and the ladder considerably less difficult to navigate, the last quarter of the distance seemed a micron in comparison to what had come before. Ben scrambled through the hatch first, then together he and Helaine reached down and hauled Sabé the rest of the way. Sabé was on her knees on the deck, just about to get to her feet when the ship jerked unexpectedly, sending her toppling forward onto her Jedi rescuer.

Her face was suddenly inches from his, her body sprawled almost perfectly atop. She felt his breathing, and their eyes seemed to snap together by forces not quite concerned with happenstance.

After this, she knew, she would never be able to tell herself she'd imagined his attraction. This close, this _alive_, his expression was unmistakably fervent, and Sabé felt heat rip through her body at his proximity. Her hair cascaded on either side of her face, encasing them for a moment in a sort of dark, warm sanctuary all their own, with the outside universe momentarily shut away. Ben stared up at her, his gaze seeming to penetrate into every secret part of her, searching, wanting, sustaining…

The spell was broken by Anakin's arrival, landing like an acrobat nearby. "That's it. Close the hatch," he said. Sabé hastily pulled herself off of Ben, trying not to blush, and grateful that neither of the two padawans were paying attention. Helaine made to pull the rope ladder back in, but Anakin shook his head and cut it away.

As the hatch was closing, Ben called over the radio, "Master Lanelle, we're away. Set a course for orbit, and then Naboo." He stepped away from the radio and close to Sabé. "Here, Senator, let's have a look at that arm."

"Naboo?" echoed Anakin, obviously very confused. "But what about the glowquartz? I was on the trail of these—"

"We learned what we needed to know," Ben cut him off. He was gently and systematically examining Sabé's blaster burn, which had now begun to throb painfully. "I think we'll have to have Master Lanelle attend to this. She's better at this sort of thing than I am."

"What did you learn?" Anakin asked persistently to Ben.

Ben looked expectantly over at Dooji, and the Gungan stepped forward. "Da key lixer of da glowquartz issen from Naboo," he said. "_Only_ Naboo. Da Naboo lixer issen what be makin' da glow."

"We've been two days going over the data," Sabé said, confirming Dooji's announcement with gravity. "There's very little room for doubt. The chief component of the makeup of glowquartz is the phosphorescent chemical that gives the colo claw fish the ability to glow in the dark. This is a bigger problem than we could ever have imagined."

"Why?" Helaine asked.

"Because, the colos are critical to the Naboo ecosystem, but due to their size, they're also very rare. If they're being farmed for this chemical, we could face ecological problems of greater impact than even the ills of glowquartz."

"It does leave us with one advantage, however" Ben added.

"What's that?" Anakin asked.

"With so few of the colo clawfish on Naboo, it shouldn't be to difficult to trace this trail to its end."

* * *

**A/N:**

A thousand apologies for the delay, folks. But I hope this chapter will be worth it. Also, please forgive me for not doing individual reviews this time. I'm about to fall asleep right now, and have a dozen other things to get done today, as it is. Be assured that I adore and appreciate every single review. I'm gonna go out on a limb that, of the two, you'd prefer the update more anyway.

Cheers!

Saché 


	15. The Taxway of Rial

**Chapter Fifteen** – _The Taxway of Rial_

_Theed, Naboo_

They were to travel to Rial via landspeeder. Jon Bakuro objected, but Claria talked him down.

"There's too great a coincidence" she insisted. "We trace this Laicha Kova's ship to Rial, and Richard just _happens_ to call me about the very same ship? Obviously, there's a connection to the Retisan family. I'd like to avoid putting them on their guard. Arriving by one of the royal ships would be overkill. They'd certainly know something urgent was going on. And we certainly can't take _your_ ship."

"Something urgent _is_ going on, Claria," Bakuro snapped back, leaning across the table where the small group had convened in the palace. Their gazes gridlocked, and he went on. "Every second we waste, Saché's life is on the line."

"And Richard will be able to look for her without arousing too much suspicion," Claria returned. Her eyes were full of sympathy, at least once you were able to get past the stubborn, implacable parts.

"I still think you should tell Richard we're coming." Versé was strapping a small, concealable pistol to her forearm, causing Ceidron to smirk with memory. The weapon would certainly escape attention within the voluminous sleeves of her handmaiden's gown. Sensing his gaze, Versé looked up, caught Ceidron's eye, and glared. Obviously, the distress between himself and Claria wasn't going to be readily forgiven by the servant-bodyguard-girlfriends.

"No, it will make for a more believable surprise if it really _is_ a surprise," Claria said offhand, straightening. She chewed on the corner of her thumb for a moment, caught herself, and hastily put flattened her palm to her side.

"My lady," said another handmaiden, peeping her head into the antechamber. _Moteé_, if Ceidron recalled correctly. She was quite young. "They're ready for you."

Claria exhaled with relief and gave a sharp nod. "Thank you, Moteé. Let's go."

They were a strange group, Ceidron thought as they made their way to where the two large, luxurious speeders awaited that would take them on the half day journey to Rial. Claria, Princess of Naboo, Versé, Jon Bakuro, Metti, and Ceidron comprised the first speeder. The second was full of members of the royal guard who would lay low in Rialdas in case Claria decided she needed them.

One thing was still bothering Ceidron greatly, though, and had been since he'd first agreed to come, following Metti dumbly back up to the palace. He hastened his footsteps, and caught up to Claria, subtly steering her away from Versé. "I have to ask you something," he said.

He barely caught the hard, telling look that Claria cast at Versé with a mere flicker of her eyes, but sensed the handmaiden's disgruntlement as she stepped further away. Claria then fixed her eyes firmly ahead and seemed consumed with the art of walking in a perfectly straight line down the corridor. "Yes, what is it, Mr. Metz?"

"Why did you ask us to come?"

"You have some interest in this matter, I thought—"

"Yeah, I know," he said. "Metti gave me the textbook answer, but why did you ask us to come? For starters, I really don't know how you intend to explain our presence in your little 'surprise visit' charade."

For a moment her façade faltered, and she seemed confused. "I don't know," she said softly. "I really don't. It just seemed like a good idea."

She didn't say another word, seemingly lost in her own concerns. Ceidron was far from satisfied, but at least 'I don't know' had been believable. She moved ahead slightly, but he kept pace with her until they reached the speeders.

"Wait!" called Versé briskly as Claria made to board the first of them.

Claria rolled her eyes and grudgingly stepped away, allowing Versé and one of the young members of the guard to board the vessel and check it. When the handmaiden emerged, Claria snapped, "What? No surprise assassin snuck in through seven levels of security in the five minutes since the speeders were brought here for an _unscheduled_ outing?"

Versé's reply was a cool and disapproving raise of her eyebrows. Claria gave a grudging sigh, and Versé announced, "All clear."

Ceidron stepped into the vessel after Claria. He had to stoop a little, but he gave a low whistle when he saw the interior. "And you don't think this is overkill?" he asked, glancing around at the circular array of cushioned seats, complete with a holoprojecter table in the middle and what was undoubtedly a wide array of other comforts in storage compartments all about.

"Oh, shut up, Metz," Claria snapped again, taking her seat and buckling her crash webbing with forceful emphasis.

Though amused, Ceidron was also curious. It wasn't like Claria to be so petulant. Then he remembered that one of her dear friends was unaccounted for, and he withdrew his ponderings.

There wasn't much conversation during the long ride. Claria weakly suggested watching a holo, but Bakuro's expression defied anyone to make such a mundane suggestion again, and she fell uncomfortably silent. One by one, the companions fell victim to the silence and monotony until only Ceidron and Jon Bakuro were left awake, and Ceidron could see that it would take an act of divine intervention to accomplish this feat with the other man.

"You're in love with her, aren't you?"

Bakuro looked up sharply. "What?" he asked.

"This Saché. You're in love with her, I think," Ceidron said. He shifted a little in his seat, trying to ease the numbness in his rear.

Bakuro stared at him for a second, amazed. He seemed to be deciding if he should or shouldn't be offended. Then his features relaxed, and to Ceidron's surprise, he gave a wry, wistful smile. "I suppose it is rather obvious," he said softly, and rested his head against the seat back behind him, sighing heavily. He looked back at Ceidron. "You're the ones who found out about the smuggling," he said.

"It was mostly Metti." Ceidron nodded at his friend. "I lent a hand. I'm sorry it led to trouble for your friend."

Ceidron comprehended the moment of ensuing silence only too well. Bakuro's eyes were fixed ahead blankly, and his jaw was set hard, and Ceidron knew his guess was correct. He and Metti _had_ been resented for their inadvertent role in Saché's kidnapping.

"It wasn't your fault," the other man finally begrudged.

This man was certainly not what Ceidron had been expecting. Not the cocky, flamboyant playboy with eyes only for his own decadence. It was clear he and Claria were close, but if they'd ever dated romantically, Ceidron would swallow a lightsaber – an _ignited_ lightsaber.

"I can't believe I was so blind," Bakuro finally said, snorting softly with disdain.

"About… what, exactly?"

"Everything. Saché… the crooked activities going on right underneath my nose in my own Force-forsaken company—" He paused. "Actually, I _wasn't_ blind with Saché. I knew I loved her. I was just stupid. A stupid, stupid coward."

Ceidron did not feel in any position to affirm or deny the man's self-assertions. Instead, he asked, "So… tell me about her. If I happen to be the one to find her, I'd better know what she looks like."

It was the right suggestion. Immediately, the man launched into a rapt description of the most perfect angel ever to inhabit the galaxy. In another time and place, Ceidron would have felt some measure of derision for such a heart-on-sleeve outpouring, but the man had good cause to be upset, after all. Ceidron needed only to look at the porcelain features of a sweetly slumbering princess a few feet away to know that, had _he_ been in Bakuro's shoes, he probably would have just stolen the royal overkill of a space ship himself.

* * *

_Hyperspace, en route between Jenispra and Rial_

After her arm injury had been efficiently treated and wrapped by Master Caine, Sabé had called her office in Coruscant to report. Her intention had been twofold: to relay the good news of the team's progress on Jenispra and hopefully to provide Jon, Saché, and Dormé, with a few more clues for their research.

She had not anticipated adding to her worries. The comm center, so recently occupied by Dormé's fretful image, sat quiet now. Sabé was still staring at it, trying to sort through her tumbling thoughts. Saché was missing, Jon was Naboo-bound, probably arrived by now, and even Claria was mixed up in all this business now.

"Well," said Anakin grimly after the group had sat together for a mute moment. "At least now we know exactly where to go."

"And where would that be?" Ben asked. He gave Anakin an expression of 'know something I don't?"

"The Rial district, at least," Sabé filled in, getting to her feet. She couldn't exactly pace in the crowded cockpit, but she rubbed her fingers into the back of her neck anxiously.

"Mesa know da place," said Dooji. He flipped on the holo console again, but instead of communications, he pulled up a graphic of Naboo. The others watched attentively as the southern region of Rial flashed golden for a moment, and the graphic zoomed in. "Lake Erana," Dooji said then, pointing at the great body of water that was the lifeblood of the region. "Only place big enough grand for colos in Rial."

"Not just that," Sabé added, straightening. "It's a sanctuary for them. It's critical to their survival."

"How do you mean?" asked Master Caine.

"Hard to get to," Dooji said knowingly.

Noting that the others all shared a matching expression of puzzlement, Sabé ventured a more detailed explanation.

"Lake Erana is connected to the waterway core network, just like most of the major bodies of water on the planet," she said. "But Erana is uniquely isolated." She nodded at Dooji. "Show them."

As Dooji adjusted the holo settings, Sabé noted both Anakin and Helaine lean forward slightly out of the corner of her eye. Naboo's geological quirks were fascinating to a good many people. Sabé pointed at the map. "Here's Lake Erana," she said knowingly. The group followed her finger along the pulsing blue lights of muted blue that indicated the famous water core network. "This series of caverns and grottos here connects it to the Keren Current. It's called the Colo Tax."

"Tax?" repeated Ben, Anakin, and Master Caine all at the same time.

Sabé and Dooji exchanged glances, and Sabé shrugged. Then Dooji offered, "Wanna cross? Gotta pay up."

"What's the toll?" asked Ben in a voice that said he was fairly sure he had an idea.

"Well, considering the area is one of the major territories of the colo claw fish, you really don't want to know," Sabé advised. "Lake Erana is their primary breeding ground. The Taxway provides them with a natural barrier that's very easy to defend."

"That's the way we're going," said Ben.

A moment of stunned silence followed this pronouncement. Ben looked between everyone's blinking faces and added, "I've navigated the core network before, monsters and all. It shouldn't be a problem. If we want to catch these smugglers with their pants down, this seems our most likely chance."

"If you say so," Anakin muttered.

Sabé got the feeling everyone else more or less shared this sentiment, but Ben was the commander of the mission, and something about his confidence deferred any objection.

"Das da bombad plan," said Dooji thoughtfully, "den wesa goin' first to Otoh Gunga. Wesa be needin' dem bongos."

"That's what I was thinking, master Gungan," Ben agreed. "Now everyone, get some rest. We don't have much longer before we arrive."

Sabé was only too happy to comply. She was still mentally and physically exhausted from the ordeal back on Jenispra, and knew the ordeal to come would likely be even more trying. She was the first one out of the cockpit, closely followed by Dooji. Just before she reached her own cabin, she overheard Anakin some ways behind her ask Ben, "Master, what's a bongo?"

* * *

_Outside Rialdas, Naboo_

Mirak Retisan had given Saché something that put her out for what was probably many hours given the state of her stiff and cramped muscles when she finally woke up. Part of her wished she'd just kept sleeping.

The only truly obvious thing was that she was underground. Her cell – if it could be called that – was dank, and had no windows. Only one weak light illuminated a small, square room of chipped duracrete. The floor was made of shabby brick, some of which had been so worn down that the earth beneath was peeking through. She had the feeling that whatever this place was, keeping prisoners was never on of its purposes, either in an original life or its present one.

Clearly, she wasn't intended to be here long.

There were shelves, too. Wooden slats, really. A high-rise to a variety of concealable wildlife with a few old glass jars thrown in for good measure. Saché had never been very squeamish about bugs, but that had been when she had the _option_ of their company. It was freezing, and the only good thing she could latch onto was the fortuitousness of always wearing heavy clothing on Coruscant. In her typical Theed wardrobe, her teeth would long since have worn out from chattering.

When Saché felt alert enough to get off the ground and to her feet, she did so slowly. She couldn't remember ever having been this hungry, and knew it was this that was making her lightheaded. She'd had a slight head injury back during the war with the Federation, and this feeling was different. Taking inventory, she was relieved to note that nothing seemed to be broken or otherwise out of place. She was stiff and sore, yes, but still seemed to be more or less in one piece.

There was nothing to eat or drink. Saché examined the door to her cell, and it gave her hope. It was thick, but it was wooden, and rather worn. She tried the latch. It turned, but she couldn't budge the door. She banged on it a couple times, hoping someone would hear her. If her captors intended to kill her, they might as well get it over with. In any case, sitting down here in the cold and growing weaker from hunger and thirst wasn't going to help her one little bit.

She kept banging at regular intervals until finally she heard the sound of locks being undone on the other side. Stepping back, she was disappointed and disgusted to find it was Mirak Retisan who had come. He looked rather worse for wear. His eyes were glazed and his shirt rumpled. Saché immediately guessed he was under the influence of something, probably glowquartz. It wasn't the same kind of detachment as alcohol. There was a frenzied feeling about him, and he couldn't quite seem to focus on her when he sneered in her general direction.

"Shut up," he said. "Stop doing that. You'll wake everybody up. Not everyone knows you're here."

"I'm hungry," Saché said pertly. She put her hands behind her back and gave him an expectant look. "Some water wouldn't be too out of your way either, would it?"

"_I'm a little princess. Give me water!_" Mirak echoed in a singsong voice. He laughed at his own cleverness.

Waiting for him to finish, Saché gave a soft sigh. Then she asked, "Where's Laicha?" It must have been a different time and place entirely when Jon's assistant had bestowed affection on this sorry excuse for a man.

Mirak stopped his chortling and wiped his mouth. "She's sleeping," he said. "She sleeps heavy, and we were up all night anyway." He gave a leering grin at Saché and she kept herself from rolling her eyes in return. Was she supposed to be surprised or something?

"Have you decided what to do with me?" she asked.

"Sure," Mirak said and laughed again, a little more harshly. "We've got a last major shipment of the colo chemical to get through the Taxway before we have to move our operation elsewhere, and you're too pretty to kill. My friends from Jenispra know a lot of slavers who'd be interested in a prize like you, and I owe them a favor or three. Maybe they'll get off my back. I trust you won't be too much trouble, eh?" He cocked his head at her, staring at her as if she were a thoroughbred and Saché felt disgusted. She could almost hear the credits tabulating in his rusty brain.

"On second thought," he said at last, "maybe it would be best to feed you. You're gonna have a long trip."

Without another word, he was gone. Unfortunately, he was still cognizant enough to lock the door again, Saché thought with a pout. Feeling a little fretful, she sat down in the corner and willed herself not to let her fear escalate into crying. The thought of slavery had never entered into her wildest of imaginations, but she had to overcome the cold fear and focus on escape.

She _had_ to escape. Though she could still daydream about a rescue, there was very little chance anyone would be able to find her. She had to do it on her own.

* * *

Less than two days after her injury, Yvenne was able to hobble about her room on crutches. Another couple of days had passed since then, but the ranch's medic still refused to authorize her return to work. So she was sitting on the back porch of the barracks with her foot propped up and trying to supervise with facial expressions. At least she had been before everyone had gone away.

The rain had lulled, at least for a while, but the sky was still overcast. She sat there, slightly chilled from the damp, and with little to do.

Except track Mirak with Prince Richard's tagging equipment.

She'd been watching his movements on the innocuous screen ever since her injury. Today though, she'd barely taken her eyes off of it, at least when no one was watching her. Things between her and Richard the past couple of days had been polite and distant, but last evening he had come to her with a shocking story of a kidnapped friend— a friend who might have been brought to Rial on the very same ship they had been exploring the day Yvenne was hurt.

"Why don't you tell my uncle about this?" she asked.

"I don't trust him," he said. "Besides, I think this has something to do with what we already started wondering about. Claria's friends think he's mixed up in drugs."

"That would explain plenty, all right."

Together, they'd reviewed Mirak's progress over the Retisan lands in the few days Yvenne had been keeping track. It was difficult to decide where he might have taken the woman— he sometimes seemed to be everywhere on the ranch at once. He only stayed in one place for a few hours a time at the most, and Yvenne strongly suspected that during these times he was getting what little sleep he ever got. Of course, it was difficult to keep tabs on him when _she_ was sleeping, though goodness knew last night she'd tried.

Under cover of darkness, Richard had last night secretly taken Brégo from the stables and headed to the place they'd decided was most likely Mirak's sanctuary, and where Mirak had most recently gone. After Richard left, however, Mirak had moved again, this time to a place much farther south on the lake shore, beyond the Retisan lands. Yvenne had no way of warning Richard of Mirak's movements, and hadn't lasted much longer in her fight against the medic's sleep aide.

Richard had returned an hour before dawn, awoken Yvenne long enough to inform her in frustrated tones of his failure to find Saché Drianna. He had found the missing ship they'd discovered on the plain, which had since disappeared. "There are a lot of people there," Richard explained. "Disreputable people— I'd say this smuggling op we've been tipped off to, or one part of it, anyway. But I looked around for a while, and didn't see anywhere he could have been hiding her. I eavesdropped a bit on some of the folks there too. I was surprised they were awake, but they seem frantic about finishing whatever it is they're working on. I figured if Saché was there then _somebody_ would have mentioned her."

Yvenne told Richard about the second location, and they both agreed it would be their next try. Unfortunately, Richard needed rest. He'd slept in a little bit, but to Yvenne's respectful astonishment, was now out in the stables, working diligently as always, though perhaps not quite as effectively. Torak and Merril had already taken the rest of the hands out into the plains, and Richard was working alone.

For the thousandth time, Yvenne took a look at the tracking screen and saw that Mirak had left his far southern mystery location and seemed to be heading home. She was feeling more restless by the minute. What if they were already too late to help the girl? The knowledge of Mirak's involvement in the glowquartz matter had rewritten Yvenne's opinion on what he was and was not capable of. She had no reasonable means to predict any of his behavior. The urge to do something _now_ was very great.

The click of demanding heels on the far side of the porch brought Yvenne's attention away from Mirak's doings. When she looked up, she saw Réka storming around the corner of the barracks in her full and pompous glory, eyes casting about with determination. When they landed on Yvenne, she honed in. "Yvenne," she demanded. "Where is the prince?"

Casually, Yvenne made sure the screen of the datapad was covered by her hand, though Réka was not the sort to pay attention to such commonplace things as a datapad in the hands of the ranch manager. "He's in the stables," she replied calmly. She nodded across the wide yard, where mud puddles left behind by the rain were still scattered here and there.

"He needs to come to the house and once and get freshened up," Réka said, frowning at the stables with narrowed eyes.

For the first time, Yvenne noted that Réka was wearing her very finest dress, short of formal evening wear. "Why?" she asked. "What's going on?"

Réka pressed her lips together at the question, but then smirked. "His sister, Princess Elsinoré, arrived in Rialdas less than an hour ago. She'll be here with some friends any minute now to surprise the prince."

Yvenne blinked. Richard's sister had come? _Claria_, she remembered she was called by family. She must have come because of Saché, but obviously Réka was not going to know this.

"Well, be my guest," she said, waving in the direction of the stables again. "I'm tied up here."

Réka rolled her eyes for a moment in disgust and stomped off. At least, she stomped until she realized the detriment that stomping through a muddy yard would ultimately have on her pristine clothing, and she began to walk with more care. Yvenne watched this procession with amusement, but already her mind was racing.

Her hands were away. Mirak had left his "post," and everyone else would be distracted by the presence of royalty in the great house.

When a bustling Réka herded Richard back through the yard, Yvenne caught his eye. She expected to find disapproval, but instead he gave a small encouraging nod that Réka did not see, and Yvenne's heart soared with confidence. After the yard was still and empty, she got to her feet, hobbled to the stables, and within seven minutes had a frisky Leda ready to ride. Yvenne strapped extra tape around her ankle for good measure. She knew she really shouldn't be riding yet, but she was counting on long years of experience— her own and Leda's— to compensate. Besides, these were hardly ordinary circumstances.

She could avoid Mirak on the grounds easily enough. Her only hope was that this time, her guess would not be so utterly wrong.

* * *

**Replies**

**Ginny-Star**- Well, I'm flattered, but, you'll forgive me I pass on the sentiment. Lol I'm sure God will see fit to give me progeny at some point down the road, so don't you worry! Thank you for your compliments.

**Lehcar Sundance**- Hehe. Soon doesn't seem to be in my vocabulary these days, but I hope that won't drive you away. Thanks for the review!

**Jedi Knight Padme**- Who said anything about Sabé and Obi kissing? LOL

**Jazzcat**- I enjoyed your favorite line, and I don't think Ceidron convinced anybody ;-) And I could hug Ben from here to Michaelmas Tuesday. Whatever version of Ben you prefer. One of my favorite RotS lines is his disbelieving 'Your New Empire'? to Anakin. Even though it's such a heartbreaking moment, he can't quite break away from the ?Anakin, you are so ridiculous? teacher mentality.

**erugenel**- Would you believe I once wasn't that inspired by Sabewan?

**query2**- Are you sure it's a complete lack of spelling errors. I do believe the last chapter said Sabé ran ?up the stars.? LOL. Too lazy to fix it. In any case, glad you're enjoying.

**a.n.g.e.l.**- A jewel of a story, eh? I like that! Thanks very much.

**rembrandt**- Sorry about the lag. And hope the lack of ?action? in this chapter didn't disappoint, but a girl has to nurse her plot once in a while, right? ;-)

**Lunair**- I was quite excited by the relation of the storylines when I conceived this story. I'm glad you're enjoying them!

**Emerald Green Queen**- There are actually a full array of 'resolutions' to the romance, as you shall see.

**MsRaven**- Did I ever tell you the hair-cascading moment was written specifically for you? LOL. I hadn't planned on doing anything so blatantly UST, but you were such a new and excited fan I couldn't resist. ;-)

**storyshark2005**- and another three months I almost made you wait as well! Sorry ?bout that. Finally got a little more Ceidron focus here, and there's more forthcoming, I hope.

**Naberrie12**- Grand finale- I can't believe I'm finally on top of it. Another couple chapters and we'll see!

**Moryan**- Hey, don't mess with the hair, babe. LOL

* * *

**A/N:**- So I can finally say that another reason it takes a while on updates is that I?m simultaneously working on original fiction (it was a secret before now). But my schedule is still very full, and to be fair to my Stargate and LotR readers, I alternate stories too. Thank you all so much for your patience!

Saché


	16. Pluck and Blasters

**Chapter Sixteen** – _Pluck and Blasters_

In core waterways of Naboo, two gungan bongos slid silently through fathoms of black water. Obi-Wan could feel Sabé's jittery nerves on the edge of his consciousness. She didn't like the smallness of the vessel in comparison with the power of the currents they traveled through— instant death for any human or gungan at these depths. He marveled that space travel, which was essentially no different, did not affect her the same way.

There had been very little deliberation as to seating arrangements. Each vessel would only carry three comfortably, and Anakin and Obi-Wan were by far the most qualified pilots. Master Caine of course did not want to be separated from her padawan, and though she did not say as much aloud, neither did she want Helaine exposed to the flamboyancy and recklessness that was Anakin's method of piloting. Truthfully, Obi-Wan couldn't really blame her. So it was he, Master Caine, and Helaine in the first bongo, while Anakin, Sabé, and Dooji comprised the second.

It unsettled him that he should be so connected to how Sabé was feeling, even with a good hundred kilos between the two ships. He knew, of course, that the distance made no difference whatsoever in cases like these, but he had harbored a vain hope that keeping her out of his physical proximity would make it a little easier on his concentration. Now he knew he'd rather have her _here_, and not at the mercy of… Anakin's piloting.

It was well nigh time, he decided, to square with the facts regarding Senator Naberrie. That he felt something for her more than Jedi were generally encouraged to feel was inescapable. That moment after they'd cleared the roof in Cliopa— when she'd hovered over him with lightning in her eyes and the scent of her all around him— had been very difficult to shake. He wasn't sure he ever could, but somehow he was going to have to find the strength to live with it— and without her.

Obi-Wan shook himself from this line of thought, and began a breathing exercise to focus his concentration. There would be time for a brief bout of self-indulgent pity later on. First, he had to get this small and diverse team through the Taxway of Rial with their lives still intact.

Master Caine, who wouldn't be able to sense his exact thoughts (thank the Force) could still sense him setting his mind in order and began quietly discussing this fact with Helaine. Then she urged the girl to follow his example, and soon the collected calm of Master and Padawan became a welcome bolster to Obi-Wan's focus. He reached out to the comm station. "Anakin," he said quietly. "Do you sense them?"

"Yes, Master. I count a dozen."

"Fourteen," Obi-Wan corrected. This wasn't going to be easy. "I'm powering down external lights now. When we get to the Kaleback Grotto, wait for my signal."

"Yes, Master."

"Initiate radio silence… now."

With a deep, steadying breath, Obi-Wan turned off the communications panel, then the lights that heretofore had been illuminating his way. Everything was going to have to be by feel now. No one but a Jedi could have managed it, with the exception of creatures like the ones that dominated these waters— which navigated predominantly via echolocation.

This meant that powering down the lights would only help marginally. The real solution would be to convince the fourteen large predators lurking between here and their destination that the bongos weren't a threat. Although the colos weren't sentient, their instincts were strong, and right now the only focus of their thoughts was protection of the nests that lay beyond. It was a hard mental barrier to affect, even for four collective Jedi, especially since the attention of the two pilots would also be consumed with not crashing the bongos into the very unforgiving rock of the grotts.

In the lead position, Obi-Wan piloted his bongo slowly, doing his best to hug the sides of the chambers, in the hope of using the rock formations to veil the echo signatures the bongos would create.

The encounters with the first and second monsters were reassuring. The Taxway's caverns tapered successively from larger to smaller, so the first few were the most expansive and easiest to hide in. With so much territory to patrol, it only took a little bit of monitoring the beasts' movements to keep well out of range of their notice until the ships had managed to pass safely. Master Caine and Helaine didn't even have to reach out for the beasts' minds, which relieved Obi-Wan greatly.

As the caverns became smaller, the task became the challenging one Obi-Wan had anticipated. His respect for Lanelle Caine returned to its proper place as he heard and sensed her assist her nervous padawan through the prolonged mental strain of impressing calm upon such militantly defensive minds. As for young Helaine, she was a tribute to her excellent training. Her serious and focused frame of mind would have done Master Yoda proud. Certainly Obi-Wan was proud of her. Through Helaine's and Master Caine's efforts, the small entourage was able to pass seven more of the cola clawfish unscathed. By that time, the caverns had become very small indeed, and they arrived at the part of the trek that had caused Obi-Wan the most anxiety in the planning.

Although it was only a couple hundred meters in length, the Kaleback Grotto was narrow— barely narrow enough for a full grown colo to get through. This geographical feature was the most important in making Lake Erana critical to the continuance of the colo species. Of all the mammoth marine life that inhabited Naboo's waters, only the colo had the physiology able to navigate Kaleback, meaning the young entrusted to Erana were in a true haven.

It also meant that Kaleback was more ferociously and heavily guarded than any other part of the Taxway, and usually by more than one monster. Obi-Wan was disappointed but not surprised to note that three of the beasts patrolled it now. Fortunately, the way just beyond was free of colo for several thousand meters, meaning once they got through, and somehow managed to keep from being followed, they'd get something of a breather. Unfortunately, the bongos were going to have to take the grotto in single file.

Anakin expressed no apprehensions at navigating Kaleback, even at full speed. He attributed his self-assurance to experiences from his pod-racing days, and Obi-Wan could certainly draw relevance the comparison. His plan, therefore, was to have Anakin run interference between the sentinels, giving Obi-Wan time to get through Kaleback un-harassed. Then it would be up to Anakin to fly through on his own, probably with at least one of the predators on his tail. Obi-Wan was being forced to put all faith in his padawan's uncanny connectivity to the Force and his top-notch piloting skills to get him through this stretch, and he knew Anakin was likely the only person in the galaxy who could pull it off— he just wished Sabé had agreed to stay with her friend Rabé Voss back in Otoh Gunga.

Of course, there had been no dissuading her.

"Master Obi-Wan," said Master Caine, her voice tight. "If we're going to try your plan we'd best not waste any time. Their minds are much too focused for us to have any success against them, even if you were assisting us. Surprise is going to help us much better if it's used before we lose it to caution."

"I agree." Supressing a sigh, he reached for the comm unit. "Anakin?"

"Yes, Master?"

"Good job so far. We're going to try the diversion tactic. Master Caine feels that a mental approach is futile and she and Helaine are already very tired."

"Sounds good," came Anakin's voice.

"Whenever you're ready, Anakin. May the Force be with you."

"And with you, Master." Anakin's voice lessened slightly over the comlink as he turned slightly away. "Dooji, Senator, you'd better hold on to something."

Obi-Wan grimaced as the comlink went silent again. Listening to the sound of Anakin's vessel overtaking them in the darkness outside, he forced himself to do more breathing exercises. It was fortunate that when the dangerous underwater spar actually began, his mind was much to preoccupied to worry about anything but the task at hand.

* * *

Sabé kept her eyes closed the entire time.

She wasn't sure why. It wasn't like there was anything to see outside the viewport, even if she'd had a clear view. On the other hand, perhaps the fact that they _couldn't_ see anything was precisely the problem. The thought that the only thing protecting them from two very real dangers was one Jedi padawan's powers of mental prowess was enough to make her sick.

The mad, gyrating, whirling speed of the bongo surely _would_ have made her sick had it not been for Ben's advice that morning not to eat anything before they left. As it was, she was thinking about having a snack when she got home and throwing it up in protest afterwards. _On Anakin's boots_, she added, gripping the edge of her seat more tightly, and doing her best to keep all the rest of her muscles more relaxed than not— again on advice from Ben.

She barely registered the good news when it came that Ben and the other Jedi had gotten through the grotto safely. The world had become a vortex of g-forces and tinny sound. When Anakin had the nerve to actually _respond_ to Ben's communiqué, she became slightly more alert. What was he thinking? They still had three ferocious colo claw fish vying for their bongo like that Republic Army bill being tossed about on the Senate floor. He shouldn't be talking to anyone!

"I'm right behind you master. Just got to play a little chicken first."

"A little—" Sabé began to croak. _What?_ she added silently. She knew her question to be lost on the young Jedi, but remembering her own good insight that all distractions were bad things right now, did not attempt to ask it again. She just closed her eyes more tightly and held on.

"All right, you two," Anakin muttered. "Come and get me."

_Oh dear_.

Sabé would later learn that the very loud, snarling thud that resounded a few eternal moments later was the result of two of the three colo claw fish colliding with one another in a mutual attempt to take a bite out of the goading Anakin's bongo. It was followed by a painful forward jerk of the bongo by outside turbulence and the impact of Sabé's chest against her crash webbing knocked half of the wind out of her. A moment later, she promptly passed out.

* * *

The largest and thickest of the glass jars keeping Saché company in her cheerless prison provided her with a cudgel. She hoped it would be heavy enough to knock Mirak unconscious when he returned with something for her to eat. She waited with long-practiced patience. In Amidala's court, innocuous vigilance had been a baseline of behavior for the handmaidens. Saché could sit or stand for hours on end without once shifting or fidgeting from impatience, or in this case, keep her mind occupied for an unspecified amount of time without breaking concentration. She couldn't lose focus and miss what would probably be her best window of opportunity for getting free of this place.

She was hoping that the concern Mirak had expressed of other people discovering her here meant he would return alone. She was also hoping that his obvious dependence on glowquartz would be affecting his judgment and reflexes. All things considered, she felt her chances of getting past Mirak to be reasonably good.

What to do _after_ the fact was a point on which she was a bit more fuzzy. The knowledge that she was in Rial was not much of a help. She knew the country to be vast and unvarying, with few places to hide, even if she'd had any clue what direction to start with. Her best hope was to get her hands on a speeder of some kind, hopefully something with a navigational guide. She didn't particularly care if Mirak and Laicha could follow her as long as she could outrun them to safety.

When the door finally opened, Saché remained still and poised. She put her hands behind her back and held a calm, regal stance that would have rivaled that of her queen. The jar was hidden on the floor behind her feet, easily concealed by her voluminous skirts. She was going to wait until Mirak turned his back on her.

Disappointment flared when she saw that he wasn't alone. More surprising, though, was a moment later when she realized that the young woman with him wasn't accompanying him but being dragged by him. Jerkily, he heaved her through the door, and Saché was alarmed to note that she was hobbling. She had lustrous red hair in a thick braid that ended between her shoulder blades, a dark tan, and lots of freckles.

"This," Mirak spat at Saché, "is my _cousin_, as usual sticking her nose in places it doesn't belong."

Saché flicked her gaze between the two, but did not comment. The red-haired woman only snarled. "You're not going to get away with this, Mirak. You know Bakurcom is onto you now."

"Not your problem, I think," he said, and began to turn around.

"I'm still hungry," Saché demanded, finally speaking up. Mirak turned back with a scowl. Though he did not reply, she could tell that the object of keeping her well-fed had totally slipped his mind. Who knew how long he would have remained away.

Finally, he cursed under his breath, and headed out the door once more. Saché bent down, seized the jar, heaved it high up in the air, and brought it smashing down upon his head just as he was reaching for the handle to the door.

Glass went flying everywhere, and Mirak fell to the floor with an ungraceful _thwump_. Saché stood, a little shaken, with the rim of the jar still clutched in both hands, and breathing so hard it surprised her, considering how collected she'd been mere moments ago.

"Nice," said the red-haired woman appreciatively.

Saché turned toward her. "Ow," she said, noting that small flecks of glass had pricked her fingers and part of her forearms. She set the fragment of her weapon gingerly down on the floor and began carefully examining her tiny wounds.

"You must be Saché Drianna."

Saché looked up in surprise. "You know who I am?" she blurted.

The girl grinned warmly and nodded. She extended her hand. "I'm Yvenne. And yes, I know who you are." Saché accepted the proffered hand once she'd wiped off the flecks of blood in her skirt. "Better than that, I'm here _because_ of you. Your friend Jon Bakuro called ahead to Prince Richard once he figured out where Mirak might have taken you."

Warm relief gave new invigoration to Saché's mental exhaustion. "Is… Prince Richard with you?" she asked hesitantly.

"No, but he will be soon enough."

"I don't understand."

"Well, believe it or not, getting captured was part of my big plan. We've been using a chip-embedded tracking program to keep tabs on Mirak's movements for the last week or so. I used it on myself when I came looking for you. Richard knows where I've gone and he knows how to find me. I was just going to wait for him here, but now that you've proven so… audacious," she glanced down at the inert form of her fallen cousin, "I think it's time to adopt a plan B."

"We're leaving?" Saché said hopefully.

"Not if I can help it," Yvenne said. "I want to try and get an idea of what's going on around here. I have a feeling it might be useful. What do you say? Want to be sneaky?"

"Can we find something to eat first?"

* * *

Richard Naberrie had been sickened by a lot of situations in his time, but at the moment, the hypocrisy of the Retisan family was taking first prize. A late afternoon dinner had hastily been prepared in honor of Claria's arrival, and Richard suspected that in the half-hour's lapse since they'd all sat down, neither Réka nor her father had stopped simpering long enough to notice their guests were barely this side of civil.

Jon Bakuro was agitated. He ate, but with a sullen expression that defied anyone else to actually _enjoy_ their food. Richard had managed to pull Jon aside a few moments before dinner and inform him of Yvenne's mission. He hoped it was enough to damper the man for at least an hour or so more. However, were Jon to presently overturn the table, borrow Claria's speeder, and head for the far southern lakeshore on his own, Richard really wouldn't blame him. He was half-tempted to do the same. After all, not only had Saché been his friend for a very long time, but Yvenne was out there now too.

His conversation with Lord Retisan consisted of masterfully timed smile-and-nods at all the right moments. Réka Retisan was sidling up to Claria in incessant attempts at conversation, trying to be both cool and sophisticated, as though the two women been best friends their entire lives instead of having just met for the first time two hours ago. Richard wasn't usually disposed to feel snobby, but he was very tempted to point out that Claria was a Princess of Theed, and Réka had never even been there.

Now Lord Retisan broke off from his praise of Richard's recent campaign to turn to Claria. "I must apologize, Princess Elsinoré, for the absence of my elder sons. Ranch work often times takes us great distances from home."

"Of course, your Lordship."

Richard recognized his sister's agitation. Had the Retisans known her better, they would have recognized that she was very much out of sorts. As it was, they probably just thought she was putting on royal airs.

He glanced briefly at the two strange men Claria had brought with her— friends from the university, or so she'd said. They sat in the places usually unoccupied at the table. Rastan Retisan had been promoted to Mirak's place for the occasion. The family had no idea where Mirak was, but Richard wasn't supposed to know that. Arath was expected on his way home from Rialdas within the hour, where he'd been on a business trip for the last few days.

"Is this your first time in Rial, Princess Elisinoré?" Lord Retisan continued. "Your parents toured here nearly a decade ago, but to my recollection you have not yet graced our plains."

"That's correct."

"And how do you like it?"

"Rial has a wildness unlike any other part of Naboo, Lord Retisan," Claria said placidly. Then she added with a weak smile, "And it is very hot."

"Grimes," said Réka immediately, turning to the servant who waited rigidly by the door, "please get some more cold water for the Princess."

"Yes, my lady."

Richard saw the barest hint of a wince flash across his sister's face, and also noted that her eyes flicked briefly to the curly-haired man, Ceidron Metz, who didn't look up, but was staring at his plate with barely mastered annoyance.

There was no opportunity to resume the conversation, for as the servant made his way out the doorway and into the corridor beyond, he crossed paths with a very harried-looking Arath, who came in the dining room with a purposeful stride.

When he spotted Claria, his progress was halted. His surprise was evident, but his recovery commendable. He gave a genuine smile— the first the family had offered—and bowed deeply to her before continuing to his father, where he stopped and waited with evident gravity.

"Arath," said Lord Retisan, getting to his feet. "Welcome home. You see already how we have been honored. Princess Elsinoré has come to call on her brother."

"It is an honor indeed, Your Highness," Arath said simply, offering a small smile. Then he added, "But you'll forgive me, Princess, if I request a brief interview with my father in private?"

"Certainly—" Claria replied, beginning to rise to her feet.

"No, no," Lord Retisan blustered, "do not trouble yourself, Your Highness. We'll talk in my study." With a final bow, he followed Arath out of the room.

Claria caught Richard's eye and almost rolled her eyes. Beneath a mask few could penetrate, her expression was riddled with exhaustion and impatience. Richard understood how she felt.

Réka was several breaths into a boastful description of the work her brothers did to help her father in his thriving district when Claria chose a tactful place to interrupt her. "Lady Retisan," she said quietly, "thank you so much for your hospitality. The meal was wonderful, but would you mind terribly if we might take a rest for the afternoon? It was a long journey."

"Of course," Réka readily assented, though Richard perceived her disappointment and frustration. She wasn't stupid, after all. She recognized a polite 'shut up' when she heard one. When the servant returned with a fresh pitcher of cold water for Claria, Réka directed he follow them, and she led Claria off in the direction of the bedrooms. Versé, who had not said a word the entire meal, followed dutifully behind.

Fortunately for Richard, it was up to Rastan to similarly accommodate the men. As the youngest Retisan conferred with the steward, Richard took the opportunity to pull Jon aside again. "Something's up," he said lowly. "I'm going to find out what Arath and Retisan are talking about. Then I'm going to come get you, and we can take a speeder after Yvenne." He pulled out the reader on Yvenne's tracking device and frowned. She'd been at the suspected location for almost half an hour now.

"And Saché," Jon glared.

Richard winced. "You know what I mean."

"Don't take long," was Jon's terse reply.

Richard nodded and turned away. Jon went to stand with Ceidron Metz. As he started to head out of the room, Richard briefly caught the other young man's eye, and a silent, mutual understanding was communicated between them. Whatever Richard and Jon were planning, this man would join them. Richard nodded stiffly, and took his leave.

It was to his advantage that he'd spent the last several weeks becoming comfortable on the Retisan estate. His happiest times had undoubtedly been out and about with Yvenne and the other hands, but he'd certainly spent enough time at the main house as well to know that no one would think it strange to see him walking casually through corridors reserved for the family's private use.

Less fortuitous was the discovery that the dark (and very thick) wooden door to Lord Retisan's study was firmly shut. Eavesdropping was out of the question, unless he wanted to go to the kitchen and steal a glass. Richard allowed himself a brief smile at the mental image, but just as quickly set his mind to more practical things. Though he very much wanted to know what was going on, he wasn't going to bend over backwards trying to find out. Best to keep his word to Jon and get back quickly. Yvenne had been on her own far too long now.

He had just turned around to begin heading back when one of the voices from inside the room escalated in both volume and proximity, and before Richard had time to prepare, the door burst open and a very frazzled Lord Retisan came bursting out. He stopped short upon spying Richard. "Your Highness?" he managed. The effect of trying to say the words with decorum resulted in a garbled sort of choking sound.

"Forgive me, Lord Retisan" Richard said hastily, giving a small bow. "I had thought perhaps your conference might be concluded, but I can see you clearly have a matter of some urgency to be attended to. Is there anything I can do to help?"

Retisan stood fuming on the carpet for a moment. "A family matter, my lord," he finally managed, speaking through stiff lips. In the study beyond, Richard spied a much more composed Arath approach slowly, his keen eyes taking in the conversation. "Nothing to concern yourself with. If you'll excuse me?" he asked.

"Certainly." Richard stepped aside to allow the other man room to move past.

The silence in the corridor hung for a long moment after Lord Retisan's was gone. Arath stepped out of the study and shut the door slowly behind him. The lock gave a soft click. Then Arath looked up and addressed Richard's expectant expression. "Sometime in the last two days, Mirak liquidated most of my father's short-term assets in Rialdas. I'm sure he would have gotten his hands on the Theed accounts too if he could."

Richard drew in a long, loud breath of air as pieces began to fall into place. "He wants to get off the planet," he said, almost to himself.

Arath was eyeing him shrewdly. "You know something more about this, don't you? Will you tell me what's going on?"

Padmé had frequently advised Richard to trust his instincts. She said that he had a tendency to over-think. Overtly trusting a member of the Retisan family seemed a very nonsensical strategy just now, but Richard's instincts told him that Arath was a good man.

"We've got to hurry," Richard said, stepping forward and taking Arath by his sleeve. "Do you have a speeder?"

"Yes, I just got back from Rialdas; it's still—"

"Will it seat four?" He began leading the other man in the direction of the guest quarters.

"Yes."

"Good." Richard pulled.

"Your Highness—"

"Yes, I know what's going on—kind of. And I've decided I trust you. We're going after Yvenne."

"Yvenne!" The alarm and concern in Arath's manner pleased Richard greatly.

"Yes, and another friend of mine. I'll explain on the way."

* * *

First on Yvenne's agenda after the girl called Saché had pickle-jarred Mirak was to lock her mad cap cousin in his own prison. Next was to get out of the basement, which was easy enough as Yvenne had just been this way.

The building was a remnant of the ranching industry as it had been three generations before Yvenne's time. She'd noted it on area maps, but had never actually taken the trouble to come out this far, as it was beyond the Retisan borders and hardly worth her effort. Before an economic boost had made Rialdas the crux of the region's commerce, the ranchers had in time past held their trade bazaars in market yards designed like this one. The building was of a vast, practical, warehouse-type design, with a large central chamber for setting up booths and the like. There was also a complex of rooms adjoining— sleeping quarters, kitchens, conference rooms. Beyond the building itself— which rested near the lakeshore, anyone who couldn't get a room inside would pitch camp, and the trading would have lasted for three or four weeks at least. Yvenne had been to a lot of trade bazaars in the district seat, but the pomp that had once accompanied them had long since diminished.

The size of the place worked to their advantage. While whatever Mirak was doing here seemed to involve quite a lot of hands in the helping, there still weren't near enough people to burst the doors off. Once they got to the ground level, they proceeded with extreme caution. Of course, Yvenne's injury compelled them to practice more caution than she _might_ have preferred, but she made the best of it. She also tried to ignore the fact that the strain of favoring one leg over the other was tiring her out very quickly.

They made an interesting team. Being the native, Yvenne was sort of the leader by unspoken acknowledgement, but despite growing hunger, Saché was still the stronger of the two. She led the way, going where Yvenne guided her, looking around each corner with care and glancing in every dusty, abandoned room they passed along the way. Yvenne was trying to get them near the main chamber— Mirak had hidden Saché quite a ways from the hub of the complex.

Saché told Yvenne in succinct fashion what had befallen her since she'd been kidnapped from the Bakurcom corporate offices four days ago. In the course of this communication Yvenne learned a great many interesting things, among them some super-galactic conspiracy concerning a drug she'd never heard of. "I still haven't figured out what Mirak and Rial have to do with it, but it obviously must be something." In turn, Yvenne told her of how Richard had been in communication with his sister and Theed for the past few days, and how circumstances had led her to come looking for Saché.

As they drew nearer to Yvenne's goal, the traffic increased, and they were forced to take shelter in the empty rooms on more than one occasion. Upon reflection, however, Yvenne wasn't sure anybody would even take note of them if they just walked on by looking like they were supposed to be doing something. Everyone they encountered was panicked, rushed, and distracted.

"Is this the way Mirak brought you?" Saché asked in her soft voice when they had the narrow corridor to themselves.

"No, he brought me more roundabout. But I did get a glimpse of the main chamber when I first snuck in." She looked around. "We need to get to the second level. There's an observation gallery up there. If we can find an access point, it'd make our spying work easier."

Saché sighed. "I wish I had a blaster."

Yvenne turned to stare at her with wide eyes.

"What?" Saché asked.

"Nothing, it's just… never mind."

Though Yvenne had known Saché for all of twenty minutes, she'd gotten an overall impression of a calm, gentle-natured person, who shouldn't know which end of a blaster was which. Now it seemed that to voice this impression would come off as rather silly.

"Well, no offense, but you only just got here. I've been wearing the same thing for four days, I haven't eaten in two, and I'm kind of ready to just get out of here. If we run into trouble, I'd like a means to keep from getting captured _again_."

Yvenne paused as a pinch of guilt pricked at her slightly. She glanced down at her own tired and encumbering legs and wondered with some incredulity what had prompted her to be adventuresome, anyway. "You're right," she said slowly. "We _should_ go—"

Saché exhaled with evident relief. "Thank you."

"— except I don't know where to find my ride," Yvenne finished, wincing. "And there's no way I'm leaving Leda with these people."

Saché pursed her lips. "Okay…" she said, "So our choices are to sit tight and wait for Prince Richard to get here, or go look for food, or try to find your tusk-cat, or try to spy on Mirak's little party…"

"I say we go to the second level and hope for two or three out of four," Yvenne pointed out.

"You think we're going to find Leda on the second level?" Saché returned glibly.

"All right. I was a bit too optimistic there."

"Can you even _get_ up a flight of stairs?" the handmaiden asked skeptically.

"I'll make do."

"Well, let's get going, then. Nothing doing by standing in the middle of the hall like ninnies."

"Right." Yvenne looked determinedly around. "I think there's probably a stairwell in this direction," she decided, and began to hobble in that direction. Saché followed, her eyes increasing their vigilance as they progressed.

"By the way," Yvenne said as they neared a promising-looking junction of corridors. "When I left the ranch, Richard's sister had just arrived, and your friend Jon with her."

If a silence could be said to feel joyous or hopeful, Yvenne certainly would not have believed it until now. When she turned to try and get some sense of the other woman's reaction to this news, she was met with a secretive smile so warming that it almost made her start. Saché's dark brown eyes were distant, and her smile increased slightly when she noted Yvenne's perusal. "Jon's here?" she asked softly.

Understanding dawned on Yvenne and she smiled back. "He is."

Now the handmaiden's smile was irrepressible. "We need to hurry," she urged.

They found a stairwell. They'd taken three steps up when a slamming door above them and a pair of hurried, pounding footsteps on the metal stairs signaled that someone was coming in their direction and there was nowhere to hide.

The woman was a petite brunette with bloodshot, distant eyes— or at least they were distant until they fixed on Saché and Yvenne, widening in surprise. She stopped short.

Saché did too, and pressed her lips together, suppressing a frustrated sigh. "Laicha," she said.

* * *

In the end, Ceidron ended up doing the driving. It was a pretty standard-sized speeder and almost as dusty as the plains they were speeding over were unvarying. Arath Retisan had said the speeder wasn't used that much because riding tusk-cats whenever possible was more economical. Ceidron could buy that, but the speeder had certainly seen better days. Of course, there were luxurious Retisan speeders they could have used, not to mention that royal monstrosity of Claria's, but Ceidron had advised they not announce their arrival prematurely by driving something that could be recognized from afar a lot faster than anybody in it.

They'd informed Metti they were leaving, but not Claria, something Ceidron knew he'd get an earful for at some point when this was over. It was hardly the height of his worries, though. Lord Retisan's unexpected fury with his surprise state of financial affairs had left them a golden and unlooked-for opportunity. There hadn't been time to hold a conference, and Claria had been on the complete other side of the building.

When they passed a small river that marked the last major landmark between them and the lake, Ceidron took further directions from Richard and Arath in turns, and marveled at the fact that only a day before he'd been wiping off glasses in a cool, dark café and feeling sorry for himself. He wasn't sure that feeling was really gone, actually, but it was nice to be doing something. Even if that something seemed likely to bring with it a good deal of trouble.

The whole situation was beyond bizarre. He was chauffeuring the king-elect of the entire planet on a crazy brain scheme to rescue someone he'd never met. His second cohort was a lovesick executive still half-mad with rage who probably hadn't slept properly in four days, and the third was somebody nobody really knew.

But who was he kidding? He was doing it because of Claria. He'd certainly never in a million years tell Jon Bakuro that _that_ was the main reason, but she'd asked him to help. So he was helping.

Feeling a need to be armed, he'd requisitioned their host for a blaster before their departure. Had Versé been nearby, he could have asked her for one her spares, but he half-suspected that such a proposition would have been turned down with a tiny, derisive gesture of the handmaiden's eyebrows. It didn't matter, though. Arath had readily supplied each of them with a weapon from his father's personal stash. All of them had stun settings, which relieved Ceidron greatly. He wasn't overly fond of blasters, and hadn't carried one in a while. Still, he'd grown up on Commenor, and while he wouldn't consider himself the galaxy's authority on street smarts, he didn't think it was too great a stretch of ego to presume he was more capable than _these_ guys. He was actually considering taking Jon's gun away.

This instinct was affirmed when, upon reaching their destination about ten minutes after the river, Ceidron parked the speeder and Jon had his feet on the ground before the other three had managed to reach for their restraints. "Hold up, Bakuro," Ceidron scowled, freeing himself and debarking from the speeder in a more collected fashion.

The verdant green of the lakeshore was a sharp contrast to the thirsty yellow plains that surrounded it. There were even trees, which sheltered the four men from view of the large boxy building half a kilometer to the south.

Richard was already studying his tracking monitor. He looked up, squinting in the glare coming off the lake. "We're in luck," he sad. "Yvenne's signal's coming from somewhere in the northern end. We're going to find her fast."

"How are we going to get up there without anybody seeing us?" Arath asked. He looked as bewildered as Ceidron was feeling.

"Probably we don't," said Jon testily. "You're a Retisan, _he's_ a Naberrie, and we're already having luck. Now let's _go_."

It felt right, Ceidron decided as they all flanked behind the determined Jon without further conversation. After all, no part of this whole exercise from the time Bakuro had contacted Claria in Theed until now had involved any sort of sensible, calm, or rational plan. Why should they bother now? Recklessness seemed to be the order of the day.

Ceidron didn't let Jon take point for long. He lengthened his pace and stride to catch up to the other man, gripping the blaster in his right hand more tightly as he went. When he caught up to Jon, he verified that the weapon was set to stun, and sent his companion a stern glare to do the same. Jon's return expression was stony in its reluctance, but he complied.

They met no resistance until they were about seventy meters from the unremarkable, solid metal door that was their goal. Ceidron was almost relieved when the door opened and three people came hurrying out. The lack of any resistance would have been far too disconcerting for his tastes. The newcomers were two men and a woman, all brandishing much more untrustworthy-looking weapons than those carried by the four men.

The lead man opened his mouth, undoubtedly to shout an empty challenge or two, but Ceidron didn't allow him the chance. He'd fired squarely at the man and brought him to his knees before he'd even had enough time to completely inhale.

Jon was more than happy to follow Ceidron's lead, but his first three shots went woefully wide, and Ceidron's suspicions that the other man had never fired a weapon before were confirmed. They did, however, have the benefit of providing enough distraction to the remaining two opponents that Ceidron was able to take out the woman a moment later. He ducked as her weapon misfired, but the gesture proved unnecessary; the shot went wild into some wildbrush fields off to the side.

The second man was downed by a shot originating behind him, and as soon as the coast was clear, he turned to see Richard smirking in the direction of his fallen target with a smug expression. Ceidron nodded appreciatively. Richard nodded back at the building and smiled, "Hey, look, they opened the door for us."

Since there was really nothing by way of cover on the rest of the approach, Ceidron urged the others into a brisk sprint to close the remaining distance, and was relieved that no further greeting party was extended by their opponents. On the other side of the doorway was a junction of two darkened hallways, and the men paused to let their eyes adjust. Compared to the scorching Rial afternoon outside, the inside of the building was dark and stuffy. They waited just long enough to catch a little bit of breath and give Richard the chance to check his check his tracker again.

It didn't take long for Richard to shake his head unhelpfully. "Sorry," he said. "It's hard to tell. She's close, but this equipment only gets detailed to a certain extent."

"Can anybody use the Force?" Ceidron asked wryly. He glanced into a room just to their left, annexed to the outer wall. "This looks like it was the guard posting," he said knowingly. "We'd better get moving, whichever way we go. I'd hate to presume these folks were stupid enough not to call for backup and then pay the price for being wrong."

"What is this place, anyway?" Jon asked.

"Abandoned bazaar," Arath replied. The other three blinked back at him and he shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll explain later."

Richard had been studying the tracker again, and though his voice carried little conviction, he said, "I _think_ she's moving." He looked straight ahead and sighed. "Let's go this way."

They'd gone through about three of the unremarkable hallways before they heard footsteps hurrying in their direction. "Here comes the backup," Ceidron muttered. When Jon raised his blaster with a determined look, Ceidron held up his hand. "No, wait," he said. "Follow me."

He hustled them all into the nearest room, which contained four bunks and could barely fit them all. He kept an eye on the corridor through the slit of the barely-open door. "Richard," he whispered, gesturing the prince closer.

"What?"

"If there are few enough, we can jump out when they've gone by and shoot them from behind. I think you're a better shot than me under pressure, so I'll leave you to get as many as you can before they turn around and start shooting us back." He turned and included Jon and Arath in his conference. "You two can help. You might get lucky."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to try and capture one for us to keep conscious. If we can ask some questions, this will probably go a lot faster." He paused and glanced back at Jon and Arath again. "On second thought," he added, "_don't_ try to help Richard with the shooting part."

"Ingenious, Metz."

"I like to think so."

It was good for Ceidron's dignity that the others really didn't have time to poke holes in his plan. A moment later, the on comers came into view, and to his satisfaction he saw only three of them. _This might be easier than I'd hoped,_ he thought, holding up three fingers to the others. Richard nodded and held his blaster up and ready. Ceidron prepped his own weapon and coiled his body, ready to run. Then he held up three fingers again, this time using them as a countdown. As the final finger went down, he nodded once and flung open the door.

Ceidron's first impression a slight disappointment he hadn't gauged the distance a little better. The men were already further off than he'd hoped. Nevertheless, he cannonballed in their direction, trying to duck a little as Richard's blaster shots were already firing over his head and to either side of him.

Just as the third man in line— the one nearest to Ceidron— was turning around in reaction to this new threat, Ceidron made a desperate headfirst lunge toward the man's legs and succeeded in knocking him to the ground. They toppled ingloriously to the ground, and then into the nearby wall, where Ceidron jammed his shoulder hard enough to make him swear quite loudly, in language that made him glad Claria wasn't here for reasons beyond _her_ safety.

Breathing hard, he opened his eyes just in time to seize his captive by the boot with his good arm, who was wisely trying to scramble out of reach. Noting that Richard had apparently taken care of his two targets with freakish speed and efficiency, he shouted, "A little help here, please?"

No matter. Jon was already on one knee beside the struggling captive, and Arath not far behind. They got the man to a sitting position against the wall, and when they all stood up they had him effectively surrounded.

"Where's Saché?" was the first thing Jon demanded.

"Huh?" the man replied. Ceidron privately thought he was still trying to recover from the attack itself, and couldn't quite process the fact that he was being _asked_ questions, let alone their content.

Jon made a very frightening display of changing his blaster stunning from stun to lethal. He pointed the barrel at the frazzled young man again and repeated, "Where's Saché?"

Now the man looked rapidly more coherent. "Who's Saché?" he squeaked, paling.

"Handmaiden to queen Amidala. She was brought _here_ by Laicha Kova, probably yesterday."

At the latter name, the man's eyes sparked recognition, and Ceidron, though annoyed by Jon's lack of self-control, was satisfied. "Where is Laicha Kova, then?" he asked knowingly.

The man swallowed. "Laicha did just get here yesterday," he confirmed. "But she came with Mirak." As he spoke Mirak's name, he took particular note of Arath's presence and paled even more. "There wasn't anybody else with her, I swear. Not that I know of."

"I think he's telling the truth," Richard observed, frowning.

"Fine. Then answer Ceidron's question," Jon said. "Where's Laicha? I'll shoot her myself once she tells me where Saché is."

"And where's Mirak?" Arath added.

"Nobody's seen Mirak in about an hour. Laicha was just up in the control center. She was going to follow us to investigate the security flag." He pointed off the way he and his friends had come. "If you go that way, you'll run into her. Make a right, an immediate left, and straight to the stairwell and you'll find her, I promise."

Jon narrowed his eyes. "We'd better." He stepped back slightly, changed his blaster back to stun and shot their informant mid-torso. The man promptly slumped over onto his side. "Come on," said Jon, and started off down the hall.

This time, Ceidron did not challenge Jon's unspoken insistence on being in the lead.

* * *

The duracrete stairwell was full of blaring silence a long moment after Saché said Laicha's name. The three women stared at each other in a mixture of disbelief, dislike, and accusation. Saché was surprised when Laicha made a very slight move backwards. Her hand was still resting on the banister. "How—" she began. Then her eyes narrowed a little and she gripped the railing a bit tighter. "Where is Mirak?"

"Sleeping," Yvenne said swiftly before Saché had a chance to answer. Glancing over at Yvenne, she thought maybe she could guess why Laicha might have been momentarily hesitant. The red-head's self-confidence was palpable, bound ankle and all. Now she eyed Laicha with cool and disdainful eyes. "I'm his cousin, by the way. I doubt he's mentioned me."

"Yvenne," Laicha murmured involuntarily.

"Wow, that's a surprise." Yvenne looked over at Saché, and seemed genuinely impressed. "I guess I'm more of a thorn in his side than mud under his boots. At least I make myself memorable."

Saché gave a humoring smile and returned her attention to Laicha. "Where did Mirak put Yvenne's tusk cat?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because we're leaving."

Laicha snorted.

"There's no point trying to stop us," Saché went on. "You're already in trouble. The royal family knows all about your operation— I sent an encrypted message to Senator Naberrie's offices when you made me wipe the computer at Bakurcom. Holding onto me gets you nothing. And if you let us go," she added, "we might be able to make things a little easier on you."

Laicha's eyes flashed angrily but she said nothing.

"Besides," Saché continued in a slower voice, cocking her head to the side a little bit, "I think maybe you're having hesitations about the whole business yourself. Let me guess. Mirak hasn't been quite as attentive as you would have preferred the past few days, has he?"

Laicha's continued glaring silence was more than enough confirmation.

"Well, in his defense he has had a major criminal conspiracy to try and pack up," Yvenne pointed out.

"True," Saché agreed. She wondered why she was feeling so calm. Though unarmed, Laicha would certainly have the upper hand if she decided to take it.

The other woman closed her mouth and her nostrils flared. "No," she finally said with decisiveness. "Mirak and I are getting out of here, and he knows what he's doing with you two, I know."

She turned to head back up the stairs, which is exactly the direction Saché would have chosen in her situation. In that direction she could make full use of her assets, including allies and a much better knowledge of this building. Knowing Yvenne couldn't possibly help, Saché hiked her skirt well above her knees with one hand and pounded up after her. Fueled by adrenaline, she almost didn't notice her hunger for the first time in twelve hours.

It wasn't easy to close the distance. Laicha had begun with a considerable head start and her clothes were far more practical for running than Saché's velveteen gown (which she was half-determined to just tear off and continue the chase in her underwear). Saché recognized her best chance would be on the half-flight landing, where the staircase turned on itself before continuing up. She could probably handle Laicha in quick order with the grab bag of techniques Panaka had taught her long ago, but she didn't want to try them on the stairs themselves.

When Saché reached the landing, Laicha was already two steps further up, but Saché had almost caught up now. She reached out desperately and hooked her arms around the other woman's legs, bringing her down to the stairs with a violent slam that, despite herself, made Saché wince with guilt.

She didn't have time to consider her next move, as the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs _behind_ her caused her insides to flare with terror. She turned around, ready to face what would probably be a far more formidable foe than Laicha and was surprised to see a tall man with dark, curly hair slowing his steps and grinning at her with admiration. He stopped when he reached her side, and glanced down at Laicha, who was looking rather stunned. "Nice," he said. "Sorry we didn't get here sooner, but I caught the tail end of that little maneuver." He bent down and swiftly picked up Laicha's blaster, which had landed a few feet to the left.

The man seemed a little familiar to Saché, and she frowned. "Have we met?"

"Sort of. It was a comm call."

"Yes!" she said. "You're Claria's friend, from the night before—" she broke off, noting now that the man (what was his name again?) was not alone. Standing at the bottom of the stairs beside Yvenne were Prince Richard and someone Saché didn't know. Two steps from the landing, staring at her with desperate, harried eyes, was—

"Jon."

He continued to stare for a moment, then swallowed. "Saché," he managed, his voice breaking, and she was genuinely shocked at the raw emotion in his voice.

"Don't worry," the familiar stranger said lowly beside her. "I've got _this_ covered." He prodded Laicha with the toe of his boot.

Saché heard him, but didn't bother with an acknowledgement. She stepped forward, eyes still on Jon, concerned, but she didn't achieve half a step before he hastened forward, closing the distance between them. Before she knew it, she was shut out from everything but the solid embrace of the man she loved.

She was next aware of Jon's exhale. She could literally feel the tightness in his chest release as his breath came out— long, shaky, and broken. "Oh, Sach," he murmured into her hair, rocking her slightly back and forth. "Saché, I was so worried." The last was a whisper.

Saché really had no idea what to do. Even if she did, she would have been incapable of acting upon it, for she was full of an inexpressible, radiant calm. No, it was more like euphoria, she decided. The most sensible thing that occurred to her was to close her eyes, and so she did, smiling.

A tap on shoulder broke the spell, and she fought back the urge to snap Richard's head off when she saw he had climbed the stairs to join them. He opened his arms and gave a rakish grin. "Don't I get a hug too?"

Saché managed a small laugh, and pried away from Jon long enough to embrace the prince. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't thank me yet," he advised, pulling away, and looking at them both seriously. "This isn't over. Jon, would you take Saché and Yvenne back to the ranch? We're going to stay and poke around. I'm going to find a comm station to call Rial and get a law enforcement detail down here."

"Excuse me?" Yvenne called up from the bottom of the stairs. "I don't think so. You're not sending me home yet, buddy. I still haven't found Leda."

Richard rolled his eyes. "Yvenne—" She held up a warning finger and he closed his mouth. Then he crossed his arms and smirked. "You can't even get up the stairs," he pointed out.

"Oh, can't I?"

Richard raised his eyebrows in challenge.

It was Yvenne's turn to roll her eyes, but she wasted no time in struggling up the first step and the second, making slow progress and waving off the offered help of the fourth man, who stepped up in an attempt to lend a hand.

"Oh, for—" Richard breathed, then uncrossed his arms and dashed down the stairs to Yvenne's side. "Fine, have it your way," he said.

A moment later, Saché, already leaning back into the warm haven of Jon, rested her head against his chest and laughed as Richard scooped Yvenne up in his arms and started up the stairs. Upon nearing the landing, he caught Saché's eye and shook his head. "She is so stubborn."

"So I've noticed," Saché replied, smiling. Yvenne was bright red.

The man who'd tried to help Yvenne was last to follow. "Hi," he said, holding out a hand. "I'm Arath Retisan—" he began.

"Arath!" Richard called. "Wasting time, let's go." He was already halfway up the second flight of stairs. "Jon, get Saché home. And take the trash with you."

"Trash?" Saché asked in puzzlement.

Ceidron Metz waved his own blaster at Laicha, who was glaring at them from where she still sat sullenly on the steps. "Oh," said Saché distastefully.

"Here. You'll probably need this," Ceidron said, handing Saché the woman's blaster, which she accepted without hesitation.

Now Jon was glaring back at Laicha. "Probably not," he said. "I don't think she'll be much trouble. Still, no point in taking chances."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ all for your patience in holding out for this chapter. I only hope 22 pages comes close to making up for it. And I certainly hope what few of the faithful remain will honor me with a smidgen of feedback. LOL

No promises on the next chapter, but if it takes any longer to post than this one did, I'll be in a sorry state indeed.


	17. Caught

**Chapter Seventeen** - _Caught_

* * *

Though both parties breathed considerably easier when the two bongos emerged safely from the Taxway, they could not afford to relax entirely.

"Good work, Anakin," Obi-Wan called over the radio when he felt sure they were no longer being immediately pursued any irritated colos. "How are your passengers?"

"Mesa doin' okeday, Mastah Kenobi," chimed in Dooji. Obi-Wan smiled. There was a noticeable strain in the Gungan's typically placid manner.

"Good to hear," he replied. "Senator Vána?"

After a beat, Anakin spoke again, "Um, she's… kind of unconscious right now," he said reluctantly. Obi-Wan could almost hear his wince.

"Unconscious?" Obi-Wan repeated, mildly alarmed.

"Yeah, I'm not sure if it was the force of the impact back there or if she just fainted. I think she's okay, but we'd better get her to shore. I'm sorry, Master."

That was Obi-Wan's cue to say 'it's okay' but he was just a tad bit too disinclined at the moment. Instead, he gave a heavy sigh. "Very well. Master Bipp, any suggestions?"

"Dere'sa studyin' place way up northaways," Dooji said knowledgeably. In addition to having been to Rial – and Lake Erana – a handful of times in his life, Dooji and Sabé had spent most of their time in hyperspace reading up on the region. "Deysa have da medical fixins. But de mosta closest place would be da bazaar."

"Bazaar?"

"Nobody dere nowadays," Dooji said knowingly. "Big place. All deserted."

Obi-Wan hesitated, torn. He wanted to get Sabé to shore as soon as possible. If there was nothing wrong with her, or only minor injuries, it was more than likely he or Master Caine would be able to help her. On the other hand, if something was seriously wrong, beyond his ability to heal her with the Force, they would waste time in the detour.

Master Caine spoke up. "Dooji, is the bazaar on the way to the research station?"

"Most ways, yah. Northaways, but not so far."

"It wouldn't be too far out of the way," she advised Obi-Wan quietly. "If we could avoid announcing our presence in public…" she trailed off.

"Then the whole point of sneaking in this way will be null and void," he finished, his mouth set grimly.

"I have a feeling she's fine, anyway. Her signature on the Force is steady."

He'd noticed that as well. Slowly, he nodded. "Very well, we'll try your bazaar first, Dooji. Would you like to help Anakin find the way?"

"For certin'."

"And keep an eye out. There are still a lot of big fish in this pond."

* * *

The reception of Jon, Saché, and Laicha Kova back at Retisan Ranch could best be described as bizarre.

The yard was deserted as the dusty old speeder puttered through it and into the little-used family garage. Saché was quite resentful that she had been forced to sit through the entire journey in the backseat with their captive, keeping the blaster trained on her when she could have been alone in the front seat with Jon, who kept looking back at her with eyes so concerned she wanted to find the nearest cookie and give it to him as a reassurance. But there was something else behind them, something that gave her a growing inward hope that thrilled her cagey nerves.

Not even one second passed after Jon had parked the speeder before he was clambering out of the pilot's seat and hastening to relieve Saché of her burden. His expression became one of darkness and pain when his eyes fell on his former assistant. Saché saw him struggle with something inside himself for a moment, and then he gritted his teeth and opened Laicha's door. He took her upper arm to tug her out of the speeder, but the tug was not a violent one, and Saché breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding it back. Laicha would not meet Jon's eyes, and didn't even look up when the sound of the door to the house behind them opening signaled the arrival of the greeting party— such as it was.

"Saché!"

The sound of Claria's jubilation could not but bring a large smile to Saché's face, and she rushed forward to embrace her friend, laughing as she did so. Unlike Jon's hug, though Claria's was very brief. She pulled back almost instantly. "Are you hurt?" she asked. "I was hoping they'd find you? Where were you? What happened?"

Saché dropped her hands from her friend's concerned grip and held them up. "My hands need something," she admitted, noting the grime from two days in a dank cellar and dried blood from the incident with the jar. Claria gasped softly, but Saché didn't let her interrupt before adding, "And I'm _starving_. What have we got to eat?"

Claria stared at her in amazement for a moment, then burst into another heartening bout of laughter and hugged Saché tight once more.

This time, when she pulled away, she looked beyond Saché, and her features were notably less pleased. "Jon Bakuro!" she scolded. "You've got a lot of explaining to do! Where is my addled excuse for a brother? And _Ceidron_?"

"And my son?"

Saché jumped. She hadn't paid attention to the small train of people that had followed Claria into the garage. One of them was Versé, who returned Saché's smile of greeting with one of appropriate relief, but Saché's attention proceeded to the large, imposing man who had spoken.

"Which one?" Jon asked wearily.

"Um," said Claria awkwardly, looking around, "Lord Retisan, this is my very good friend Saché Drianna, handmaiden to Queen Amidala and Senator Vána Naberrie."

"Yes, Your Highness, but if you'll pardon—" the flustered Lord Retisan began.

"If you'll allow me, Your Highness?" Jon said, stepping forward.

Claria nodded.

"Your Lordship, for the past several months, your son Mirak has been part of a smuggling ring operating between Naboo, Jenispra, and who else knows what other planets— all using Bakurcom as a shield against shipping snags. All under my very nose. _This_—" he began, nudging Laicha in the small of the back with the business end of his blaster.

"Laicha." This time, it was the pretty young woman standing beside Lord Retisan who spoke. She was peering at Laicha with familiar and scathing eyes. Retisan turned to her expectantly, and she added, "She used to live in Rialdas. Slept with Mirak for a few months." The young woman's disdain was more than evident. "He helped her get a job offworld, though I never understood why until now." She cocked her head and smirked at Laicha. "How's it feel to be played, sweetie?"

Lord Retisan seemed to be once again collecting his wits. He returned his attention to Jon, and he did not look pleased. "Your accusations are preposterous," he fumed. "How dare you come to my home in this manner and bring such slander with you?"

"We'll see," Jon said, shrugging indifferently. "Prince Richard is at the site now, and there's already more than enough evidence for me to call Princess Elsinoré's security force waiting in Rialdas. In the meantime, there are two warrants out for Laicha's arrest, one for Coruscant and one for Naboo. It is your obligation as a citizen to keep her contained until law enforcement arrives to take her back to the capital." He glanced back at Saché. "And Miss Drianna needs a medic."

Lord Retisan stared at Jon, is lips and jowls twitching as though he had several retorting things to say but couldn't decide which he liked best. Finally his narrowed eyes looked from Jon to Claria to his daughter and then back. "Very well," he said softly.

* * *

"Ugh, what is that smell?"

Arath was the first to speak after the foursome of Yvenne, Richard, he, and the man Yvenne did not know – Ceidron – had conquered the staircase and were proceeding down the dim corridor that succeeded it. His question was whispered.

"Smells like fish," Ceidron observed. He was in the rear of the group, and kept making quick glances behind them, his blaster at the ready. Richard was in the lead, likewise poised for a skirmish at any moment. He'd put Yvenne back on her feet once they were back on level ground, and now she was walking with the help of her cousin, who seemed relieved to be doing something semi-useful.

Ahead of them, Richard reached the end of the corridor and looked cautiously in both directions of the one it joined. His gaze fixed on something of seeming interest to the left and he beckoned to the others. "Maybe we're about to find out," he said softly.

The new corridor was longer than the one they'd left. It stretched several dozen meters in either direction, but to the left one wall of it was comprised of long, gallery-like windows. The four young people approached the far end of them cautiously, and the sight that met their eyes caused Yvenne to let out a loud gasp.

"Oh, my stars," she whispered.

In the center of the room was a gigantic platform, about a meter in height, and about half again the length of a standard scatterball court. Even that was not quite long enough to accommodate the massive corpse of a dead colo claw fish that was splayed out upon it. The head and tail of the great creature dangled over the edges.

The stench, which had been getting worse the closer they'd gotten was now almost overpowering. Yvenne covered her nose and mouth with her hand and squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off a gag reflex. Then she screwed up her nerves and forced herself to look again.

"What are the doing?" Richard wondered.

For the first time, Yvenne heeded the people scurrying about the room, probably about two-dozen in total. Some ran in and out of the many doors, carrying supplies or large buckets filled with something hard to identify. More than half of them were gathered around the pitiful dead colo, going at it with vibroblades. All of them wore masks over their mouths and noses.

It was Ceidron who finally seemed to perceive a method to the madness. "They're harvesting," he said with certain, pointing at the nearest worker. "See how they're arranged, they're removing the phosphorescent pouches from the ridges, though why they'd want to…" he trailed off as Yvenne sensed the same realization hit all four of them at once.

"Glowquartz," she said with slow revelation. "That's why the research station's been detecting an unnatural decline in the colo population. They're using the chemicals in the phosphorescence as part of glowquartz." Remembering what else Lera Mortenne had told her, she pondered aloud, "But what do they do with the rest of the bodies?"

"We can wonder about that later," Richard observed. Forcing himself to tear his eyes away, he stepped slowly back from the window. "We should find Leda and get out of here."

Yvenne remained at the window long enough to spy, just in time, the familiar figure of a very irate-looking Mirak come rushing through one of the far doors, looking about madly, and storming to the nearest person with wild gesticulations. "Oh yeah," she agreed heartily. "Mirak's awake, and he knows we're here. I think we've stayed too long."

They retreated in the opposite direction, hoping to find a way down near the stables – or whatever these people were using to serve as stables, for Yvenne felt certain that Mirak wasn't the only member of this… crew that traveled by tusk-cat on a day-by-day basis. They succeeded in finding a lift, but it was broken. A few minutes' more of searching yielded another staircase, but no sooner had they started down it when the sound of pounding footsteps and voices could be heard from the level below, working their way up.

"Crap," hissed Ceidron, who seemed to have become the de facto leader. He pivoted on the landing, and looked around. "Your Highness, you'd better carry your girlfriend again," he advised and headed off at a light jog further down the hallway.

"She's not—" Richard started to say, but Yvenne smacked him on the arm – quietly.

"Just shut up and do it!" she hissed. Recollecting himself, Richard handed her his blaster and complied.

Unfortunately, though the king-elect's strong arms carrying her gave them better mobility than her merely hobbling, it still wasn't fast enough, and the first of Mirak's people, a stout woman with crazy hair, spied the two of them just as they hurried around the next corner. The woman immediately began shouting warnings to her companions.

Things just worse after that. There seemed no direction to run but forward – no rooms to hide in, no other wings of the building to access from this section. Yvenne soon realized that they gallery they'd been standing in wrapped the full course of the upper level around the large, central chamber, and a gallery was _all_ that it was. They couldn't have trapped themselves more perfectly if they'd tried.

As a result, it wasn't long before Richard glared at Ceidron an unspoken warning to put his weapon down and surrender to the drug-crazed poachers who surrounded them. Armed as they were with much more dangerous-looking blasters than the two that Richard and Ceidron carried, Yvenne was relieved when Ceidron grudgingly complied, but it was only a little bit relieved. If Mirak didn't shoot them all on sight, she would be very much surprised.

* * *

"Master Kenobi?"

Obi-Wan as surprised as anyone when the timid voice of young Helaine piped up from the back of the bongo, where she'd been sitting without saying a word almost since they'd boarded the small vessels.

"What is it, padawan?" he asked kindly.

"Didn't Dooji say there were no people in the bazaar?"

"He did, why?"

"Well… I've been trying to locate it with the Force. And there are lots of life signs there."

Obi-Wan had little time to react to this announcement. The com crackled. "Master?" came Anakin's voice.

"Yes, Anakin?"

"Good news. The Senator woke up."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Senator Vána, how are you feeling?" he called.

The com barely picked up the mild groan that followed. Then a very disgruntled royal voice replied. "Ben, I'm going to _kill_ you. And then your padawan."

This time his smile proceeded to a quiet chuckle. "Good to hear your voice, Senator."

"I gave her the rundown of standard questions already, Master. I think she's okay."

"I'm _fine_," Sabé snapped in the background. "Except for my insides being tossed around like a salad, I'm perfectly okay."

"We'll be the final judge of that," Obi-Wan put in. He glanced back over his shoulder at Helaine, and then at Lanelle Caine. "Master Bip, Helaine has just made a very interesting observation."

"Whazzat, Ben Jedi?"

"Your abandoned bazaar is not very abandoned." In the past few moments, he'd been sending mental probes toward the approaching shore that confirmed the young padawan's discovery.

"What?" asked Anakin and Dooji together. A moment later, Anakin added. "She's right."

"What else do you sense, Anakin?" Obi-Wan asked, wanting to confirm his further theories. Beside him, he could also feel Master Caine searching the area with her Force-eyes.

"A lot of minds are frenzied," Anakin noted without hesitation. "Strung out, borderline hysterical, even."

"I'd say we've found a trove of drug addicts, wouldn't you?" Master Caine observed shrewdly.

"Looks like it," Obi-Wan agreed. "The question is, do we keep going now?"

There was a moment of collective pause before Sabé's voice broke it. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ben. I'm _fine_. This is what we came here for."

"I agree, Master. It looks like we're at the right place."

Ben glanced over at his fellow Jedi Master, who nodded her calm assent. He shook his head in resignation and reached once more for the propulsion. "Looks like forward it is. Bring it in to about two-hundred meters in, Anakin. We can anchor the bongos to the lake floor and swim the rest of the way, now that the Senator's awake."

* * *

The medic in residence at Retisan Ranch seemed well worth his paycheck. He cleaned, salved, and bandaged Saché's hands with almost brusque efficiency, and then provided her with a change of clothes and a clean bed in the infirmary, which was a pleasant, homey-like building about halfway between the main house and the stables. As she was settling in, eagerly anticipating the dinner they'd promised her was on its way, she was surprised at the medic returning with Jon, another man, and an unconscious, very sickly-looking Laicha.

"What happened to her?" she asked, almost alarmed at the sight of the woman's pallid face.

"My guess?" the medic said as the three men heaved the woman up onto the room's second bed, "withdrawal."

Jon spared a moment's impassive glance at Laicha before he left her to the tending of the other two men and came over to Saché. His eyes fell on her bandaged hands resting on her lap and he smiled. "Feeling better?" he asked, reaching down to brush her fingertips gently. The sensation gave her a soft thrill.

"Yeah," she said shyly. "Still hungry, though."

Right on cue, one of the Retisan's servants appeared in the doorway, followed by the lady of the house, who was superficially hospitable despite her lack of true warmth. She exchanged pleasantries with Saché, inquired about her satisfaction with the service, extended assurances that anything she needed would be taken care of, and favored the encumbered Laicha a disdainful glance not unlike Jon's in sentiment before she took her leave. Saché was trying to decide if she was as glad to be gone as Jon was to see her go.

In the meantime, Saché had been trying to eat her dinner with enough composure that she didn't look like a complete savage, and when she'd finally had enough to make her feel like a human being again, she leaned back against her pillow with relief.

"Oh, I could sleep for a year," she said with a satisfied sigh and closed her eyes, basking in comfort. Getting no response from Jon, however, she soon opened them again, only to find him staring at her like a man trying to find his way back from being lost "Are you okay?" she asked, reaching up to touch his face uncertainly.

"I'm sorry, I—" he faltered. "I just— I thought I'd lost you. Saché—"

"Shhh," she soothed. "It's all right. I'm fine. It's fine now." She reached out and ran her fingertips through the hair that fell over onto his forehead, feeling almost maternal.

Almost.

Hypnotized by his eyes, which were beginning to calm again, Saché's motion slowed until it stopped completely and all she could do was stare. There was a knowing warmth escalating inside her.

"I love you, Saché," he said at last. "I should have said so a long time ago, and I hate myself that this is what it took to make me do it, but… there it is."

The escalation burst into a jubilant blaze. Her fingers found their way to the back of his head and she pulled it down with a savoring slowness. When their lips were a mere fraction of breath apart, she closed her eyes and whispered, "We really are stupid, aren't we?"

Though she couldn't see it, she could feel him finally smile. "Yes," he murmured, not yielding a micron of space, and then there was no more chance for talking.

Jon made a comical sound of protest a few long moments later, when an authoritative hand grabbed his shoulder and tugged him away. "Hmmpp – no," he complained, causing Saché to giggle.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, lover boy. This young lady needs rest, and I can see you're going to be no good for it."

"More good than you know," Saché argued, smiling up at Jon impishly.

The medic rolled his eyes but continued herding Jon away. "Go to sleep," he ordered. "Don't make me give you something. You," he said to Jon, "get out of here. Scram. Now."

Jon made a face that made Saché laugh again. "I'll see you when you wake up," he promised.

Saché could only spare a little bit of energy to be concerned for her roommate, who was looking worse by the moment, but neither this mild worry nor the warm afterglow of a perfect kiss were quite powerful enough to keep her weary body from soon drifting off to the peaceful, healing forgetfulness of sleep.

* * *

"This is not going to be good, is it?" Richard muttered to Yvenne as the captives were escorted back down the stairs.

Yvenne didn't have much leisure to answer him, focused as she was on compensating for her injury without killing herself at the pace the poachers were making. Richard quickly moved over slightly to support her, glaring off the disapproving reactions of the nearest captors. They relaxed again marginally when they realized his intent and allowed him to help her.

Richard's unanswered observation, though painfully obvious, did not make it less accurate. Mirak was livid when they were brought to him. "Yvenne, you are an eternal pain," he said, singling her out as the chief target of his ire. His eyes next moved to his brother and narrowed further. "And what are _you_ doing here?" he snapped.

Arath scowled back. "Family concern," he said. "Father is not too happy with you, Mirak."

Mirak shrugged. "Lucky for him I'll soon be gone, then."

"Mirak." A heavily-freckled man rushed up behind. "We've got the last that we're going to get from this drake. Do you want us to take it to the incinerator?"

"No time," Mirak said. "Just leave it. We don't need to hide anymore. Pack up. Get ready to leave." He turned back to his captives. "You have as much time as you want to give yourselves to live if you tell me anything that might help me get off this rock without pursuit."

"Okay then," said Ceidron. "Killing the king-elect? Bad move. I'd advise against it."

"Hey, good point!" Mirak exclaimed sarcastically. "Maybe I'd better make nobody finds out about it, huh?" He took in the sight of the four of them again, and asked, "Where's the pretty little handmaiden, anyway?"

"Not here," said Yvenne.

"That's too bad." He reached up and rubbed the back of his head with a dark expression. "I owe her a bump on the head."

"I think you owe her a lot more than that," Richard said. "Though how you'd ever repay what you did to her is beyond me."

"_I_ didn't do anything to her. It was Laicha's choice to kidnap her, and even that was because she was sticking her nose in things not her place." As if suddenly realizing something, Mirak looked around curiously. He looked at the woman holding Yvenne. "Where is Laicha, anyway? She should have been here by now. I called for all hands."

"She's gone, sir. Haven't seen her since the security alarm went off, I'm guessing when _these_ people showed up."

"What did you do with her?" Mirak asked, immediately turning accusing eyes to Richard and Yvenne.

"Who?" Yvenne quickly piped up.

"Laicha, you imbecile," he retorted. "Dark hair, great body. Almost criminally needy? Don't you remember her _hovering_ around the ranch every day three years back?"

"How am I supposed to remember all your flavors of the week, Mirak?" Yvenne said.

He scowled. "You remember her," he said with certainty. "I think you know where she is, too." He turned to the nearest lackey. "See if you can find her."

After that, Mirak lost immediate interest in them, and left them under the watchful eye of four of his people, telling them he'd leave them to 'think about it'. He didn't take any other particular measures to secure them, but instead made them stand in a large room that seemed to be in the center of all the frantic activity. As such, there were always people coming and going, making for all the more pairs of eyes keeping tabs on the intruders. There wasn't any opportunity to get away, though Yvenne noted Ceidron's eyes never stopped looking for an opportunity. For his part, Arath simply stood aloof and observed the evidence of his brother's treachery with increasing anger. At some point, Richard loosened his supporting grip on Yvenne and laced his fingers comfortingly into hers and she did not protest. Despite her remaining misgivings toward the prince and the not-so-ideal circumstance they now found themselves in, she could not help but be affected, and welcomed the small comfort.

When Mirak finally came storming back, she knew it was bad news. Without preamble, he snatched a blaster from the nearest pair of hands and trained it squarely at Richard. "Laicha isn't here," he said, "and one of my men just woke up and said there was a fourth man with you. They escaped, didn't they? Where did they go?" he demanded, stepping all the way in till the barrel of his weapon rested on Richard's forehead.

"They went back to the ranch, Mirak," Yvenne spoke up frantically, no longer seeing a point in concealing Jon's involvement. "He took Saché and Laicha back to the ranch and they're going to call for reinforcements. It's not going to take them long to get here. There's no point in killing us. You're already through."

"It might be fun, though," he growled, tightening his grip.

"No!" she said, lunging forward. "You need him!" Thinking quickly, she added, "Think of his value as a hostage!"

That gave him pause. Mirak pondered this thought a moment, and then snickered. "Yeah, but it would kind of ruin his chances for re-election, wouldn't it? Idiot prince gets captured by a bunch of drugged-up, crazy criminals." He lowered his blaster slowly. "Well, for once you're right, Yvenne. Good point. I'll keep that in mind. Hostages." He surveyed them for a moment, and added, "But I could still probably kill _one_ of you, couldn't I?"

He switched his aim to Ceidron Metz and fired.

* * *

(whistles innocently)

**A/N:** I'm going to go out on a limb here and estimate probably three more chapters before this fic which has occupied nearly three years of my life will finally be complete. Hehehe.


	18. Cascade

**Chapter Eighteen** – _Cascade_

Sabé, Dooji, Ben, and the remaining Jedi reached the lake shore rather ungracefully. They'd anchored the bongos to the bottom of the lake several dozen yards away, where the ships now floated like buoys in the surface of the water. Then they swam and waded the rest of the way to the shore. Nobody but Sabé seemed to mind this wet and rather muddy process. By the time she had her feet on the bank, she was soaked, hungry, and more than just a little bit shaken, still trying to calm down from Anakin's colo antics.

She was just a little bit irritable.

Master Caine was helping Helaine out of the water when the older woman suddenly and sharply turned her head to stare at the large, dull-looking building that loomed ahead. "We need to hurry," she said. She turned heel and began walking with purpose in that direction, Helaine fast on her heels.

"What—?" Sabé began to ask.

"There's no time," Ben cut her off, shedding his great robe and brandishing his lightsaber. "Do you have your blaster?"

Sabé made a face and hoisted the weapon Ben had given her back in Otoh Gunga.

"Good. Don't fire unless I order you to. And calm down, Sabé, or you're going to get someone hurt." He gave her a very pointed expression before turning to pursue the wake of energy left by Lanelle Caine.

Startled, Sabé stared after him, watching Anakin and Dooji follow. It was a moment or two before she collected her senses enough to do the same. She was trying to remember the last time Ben had addressed her so informally… or if he ever had.

Ahead of her, Ben looked over his shoulder back at her with a frown. "Senator, catch up!" he called.

_So much for that._

Before they reached the door, Ben assigned Anakin to the rear of the group. "Senator, Representative Bip," Ben said, "Master Caine and I will be in the lead. Anakin will remain rearguard, and Helaine will be covering for both of you. Stick with her, do whatever any of us tell you, and don't shoot at anything unless you have a clear shot."

"Are you sure there's even going to be shooting?" Sabé couldn't help but ask.

"I hope not. Given the state of agitation coming from this building, however, I find it's best to assume the worst."

"Are we finished with the motivational prep, Master Kenobi?" asked Lanelle Caine wryly. Sabé rolled her eyes.

"Let's go," Ben replied, nodding.

In one rapid motion, Master Caine blasted the bolt on the door and kicked it open.

Sabé's concerns about the likelihood of a firefight were quickly answered. She had just put her toes across the threshold when a shout sounded from the far end of the long corridor on the other side. She ducked instinctively at the sound of blaster fire, and heard the unmistakable sounds of four lightsabers flaring to life in response.

"Senator, get down!" Ben shouted, even as Helaine reached out to heave Dooji to the ground. Sabé ducked, throwing her arms around her head and squeezing her eyes shut. A moment later she dared to squint one eye open to peek at the proceedings, just in time to see the far gunman fall to his own blasterfire, expertly ricocheted off Anakin's lightsaber.

"Hurry, get up. Let's move," clipped Master Caine. Already her weapon was turned off and back at her side and she was progressing down the hallway.

"Come on, Senator," said Helaine gently, bending down to help Sabé to her feet. Then they tore off after the two Jedi Masters, with Anakin and Dooji right behind them.

The corridor, if it could be called that, was not small. It was more like a vaulted foyer, wide and lofty, like an oblong lobby of some grand theater. The walls were duracrete, and had once been painted what was probably a warm, neutral sort of pale, creamy yellow. Years of abandonment had taken their toll – now all that remained of the paint were tired, faded splotches that were obviously losing ground.

Master Caine seemed to know where she was going. Her purposeful strides had soon changed into a rapid jog, and Sabé joined everyone else in matching pace, quietly thankful for the aerobics regimen that she and Dormé had undertaken together. It soon became clear that they were heading for a large pair of double doors at the end of the vast inner wall. Beyond these doors, the gallery turned a corner and continued north.

It also didn't take her long to realize that something stank of fresh fish, and it was getting stronger the further they went. Stronger to the point of putrid. "Something tells me we're getting warmer," Sabé muttered.

"Don't you mean smellier?" Ben asked her, glancing back over his shoulder long enough to cast her a quick, amused grin.

Sabé returned it just as Master Caine began approaching the double doors. Master Caine slowed the pace to a cautious walk and held up a hand for silence. As soon as the small group had gathered behind her, the Jedi woman gave them all a silent caution with her eyes. Then with a brusqueness Sabé hadn't been expecting, she tugged open the door and stepped cautiously inside.

"Get behind something, if you can," Ben said quickly to Sabé and Dooji, just before he turned and followed.

Sabé's hand squeezed the grip of her blaster with extra nervousness as she followed. Even before she'd set foot in the enormous chamber beyond, she was overwhelmed by the stench, now so strong it almost dealt her a physical blow. Gritting her teeth she kept going.

The moment that followed was a bit odd. The size of the chamber was so large that, strange as it was, hardly anybody noticed that four Jedi Knights had just sauntered into the southeast doors. At least not right away.

Sabé's attention was first consumed by the shocking sight of a limp, hacked colo carcass spread across a platform that spanned across the center of the chamber. She squeezed her eyes closed and for a moment choked back a couple of dry heaves.

Large, comforting fingers steadied her at the elbow. She opened her eyes to see Dooji looking at her with concern. "Buckin' up now, Senata," he said quietly. "Yousa okeday?"

Sabé swallowed and gave a nod. "I'll be fine," she whispered.

"Senator," called Ben expectantly from just ahead, so quietly she almost didn't hear him. She straightened and took two steps forward to join him. "Look," he said, nodding toward the center of the room.

The reason nobody was paying attention to their arrival was because all eyes in the room were focused on a confrontation taking place at the far end of the platform holding the dead colo. A tall young man with wild, dark hair was holding a blaster to the head of another young man, who—

"Richard?" Sabé breathed, recognizing even at the distance the familiar figure of her younger brother. "What is he—? No—" She started forward, desperate, but Ben reached out and held her back.

"Not yet," he murmured.

"What do you mean, not yet?" she hissed. "In case you don't notice, that man is about to—"

Her protest was cut short by the protests of someone else at the other end of the room. A young woman - Sabé did not recognize her - who'd been standing beside Richard stepped urgently forward. Sabé couldn't hear all her words completely, but it was clear she was pleading with the wild-haired man.

A few moments later, he lowered the blaster and Sabé's entire body sagged with relief. She'd barely had time to breathe, however, when he raised it again, this time with malicious speed and purpose.

Then several things happened, all at the very same time.

Sabé's scream was masked by the sound the weapon made as it fired. At the same time, Master Caine's hand shot out quick as lightning, using the Force to cause the shot to go wide – barely. Sabé hardly had time to realize that the shot hadn't even been aimed at Richard but another young man standing with him. The next moment, the _thrum_ of active lightsabers was once again all around her, and the moment after that, she and Dooji were left standing dumbfounded in the wake of four charging Jedi.

"Senator, get behind something!!" Ben shouted, almost angrily, over his shoulder before devoting his full attention to the fight before him.

She looked around desperately. In truth, she wasn't sure what he expected her to do. There really wasn't all that much that would provide cover, and already blasterfire was flying about all through the room. Every colo slayer present was seemingly armed and foolishly trying to defend against four highly trained Jedi.

"Dissen way!" said Dooji, reaching out for her arm and tugging her towards the near end of the center platform. Sabé tripped after him, shrieking again as a blast took a chunk out of the duracrete where she'd been standing a moment before.

_Sabé Vána Naberrie!!!_ she scolded herself internally. _Is this any kind of behavior for someone who fought the battle of Naboo?_

The answer was no, of course. Gritting her teeth, she focused on following Dooji the remaining three meters to their goal without getting her head blown off. They reached the platform safely, both simultaneously crouching down to get their bodies as protected as possible.

"Take'n dat way," Dooji directed, nodding his head to the side of the room they'd entered. "Mesa take'n dissun." He hoisted his blaster confidently and turned to cover their position in the opposite direction.

"Right," Sabé murmured. She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip on her own weapon. Cautiously, she peeked around the corner of the platform.

She was gratified to see that the four Jedi seemed to have the situation relatively in hand. The blurs that were their lightsabers danced in and out of Sabé's line of sight, and already remnants of their handiwork in the form of bad guy bodies could be seen lying about various places across the floor. She also spotted Richard, with weapon in hand, also in the thick of things. Sabé grinned, half tempted to just lay low and let them finish up. But as talented and undermatched as they obviously were, even a Jedi could be taken down by a single stray blaster shot, and she certainly wasn't willing to leave Richard alone with his nonexistent war record. Sabé was determined to try and help.

From this position, it was difficult to get a steady shot. She retreated back behind the platform, deciding to try an overhead approach. Just as cautiously, she rose up and got a peek over the top edge of the platform and the remains of the sorry dead creature there.

Before she had a chance to even _find_ some targets, let alone narrow in on one, a blaster shot whizzed past her head to land on the wall behind her. "Ow!!!" she shouted, back down to her crouch posthaste, and scowling. Now she was angry. Staying on the balls of her feet, she popped up again, and ducked out of the way of another shot aimed at her head. This time she was ready for it, and was able to get a better sense of who had their sights on her and where they were shooting from. She found him – a skinny, middle-aged man with blond hair pulled back into a tail.

Drug dealers or no, Sabé had never before aimed a blaster at a living, breathing person. She felt a brief moment of sickening moral panic. The distance was also daunting, as he was nearly at the other end of the platform. She only had a fraction of a moment to consider all of this, as her opponent was already sizing up his weapon towards her again. She was going to have to duck or shoot in the next second.

Sabé set her sights on the man's right shoulder, picturing in her mind the teeny tiny little target that Panaka had made her shoot at for hours on end when the Federation ships had been besieging Naboo. She'd done the same thing with the droids who had been protecting Nute Gunray, that fateful moment when she'd distracted him long enough to give Padmé her much-needed break. Instinct took over and Sabé squeezed the trigger.

The man staggered backwards several steps under the force of the blastefire hitting him. Sabé didn't watch to see what would happen next, instead retreating back behind the platform.

This dance continued for several more minutes. Sabé and Dooji's best contributions were made by stopping those members of the cartel who tried to flee the Jedi by running down to the end of the room where they were positioned. Sabé did her best not to kill anyone, but it was difficult when a drug-crazed opponent was charging her with a feral expression on his face and a blaster aimed squarely at her chest. There was nothing to be done but react in kind, getting off a shot as fast as possible before he did, no matter where it might fall.

That man had crumpled to his knees with a flaming hole in where his heart once was and Sabé had almost been sick again.

Finally, the sounds of the battle came to a merciful halt.

Sabé risked a peep over her makeshift bunker just in time to see Ben clipping his lightsaber back onto his belt. He looked up, caught her eye, and gave a curt nod. It was safe to come out.

In an instant, Sabé was on her feet and around the platform. "Richard!" she called, spotting her brother a few meters away, nudging a fallen opponent with his boot.

He looked up, and his eyes filled with wonder. "Sabé?" he called, his face breaking into a grin.

In a few quick strides they were embracing. "What are you doing here?" she finally managed to ask, pulling away.

"Me? What are _you_ doing here?" he shot back.

"Tracking drug dealers," she said.

"I know," Richard began eagerly, then faltered, "— I mean, so are we." He gave an embarrassed grin after the redheaded girl from before, who now stood a few feet behind him, laughed. "I mean, I know about the glowquartz. Jon and Saché told Claria about it, and they traced one of the ringleader's trail here through the ship that she took after she kidnapped Saché. We came to rescue her."

Sabé stared at him for a moment and blinked a couple of times. "Huh?" she finally asked.

Richard gave a defeated sigh and smiled again. "Let's just go with long story."

"Yeah, maybe, except what happened to Saché?" she asked, alarmed.

"Up until an hour ago, we were worried sick for her, but it's okay now. We got her out of here. Jon took her back to Retisan Ranch. I'll tell you all about it." Richard turned around to the girl who had laughed at him, hobbling up behind on the arm of a tall young man. "Sabé, this is my good friend Yvenne Sorenst and her cousin, Arath Retisan. Yvenne, may I present my sister, Sabé Vána Naberrie." He spoke with complete formality, as though the introductions were being made in Theed Palace instead of three feet from huge, stinking fish corpse and surrounded by dead drug dealers. Sabé realized that he must respect these people greatly.

"Your Highness," Yvenne Sorenst said with a shy smile. She somehow managed a curtsey, despite the fact she was still leaning on her cousin.

By this time, Ben had picked his way across the aftermath of the fight and stepped up to Sabé's side. "Senator Naberrie," he said lowly.

She recognized that his address was not one of mere nicety. Mildly concerned, she turned to him. "What is it, Ben?"

"I need you to stay here and assist Helaine and Master Caine in dealing with the prisoners."

"We took prisoners?" she asked, looking around in surprising. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the two female Jedi hard at work binding the hands of a group of surly-looking people in a distant corner of the room.

"A few, but some of the drug dealers escaped in the initial moments of the fight."

Yvenne Sorenst was looking around as well, at both the prisoners Ben had brought to their attention and the bodies of the not-so-fortunate people who had been killed on the floor all around. She looked between Richard and her cousin with alarm. "Where's Mirak?" she asked.

Richard too had taken up observing the room. His eyes narrowed in puzzlement. "And where's Ceidron?" he added.

* * *

Claria was pacing the room she'd been provided when there was a knock at her door. She ceased her fidgeting in relief, and hastened several paces across the thick plush of the carpet to answer it. The bedroom, which had been surrendered by the lady of the house, was certainly opulent enough to befit a royal, but Claria was far too unsettled to take any pleasure in her surroundings.

On the other side of the door she found Réka Retisan herself, face tighter and more displeased than it had been when they'd first been introduced. Though the older girl had done a fair job of maintaining niceties, the events of the afternoon clearly had not sat well with the Retisan heiress. Claria wasn't sure who Réka was likely to be most angry with: Jon, Richard, or her brother Mirak.

"Your highness," Réka said with stiff formality. "Laicha Kova is requesting a word with you."

It took Claria a couple moments to recognize the name of the surly captive Jon had brought back with Saché. She'd been so relieved to see Saché alive and safe that she'd barely paid heed to the other woman. She frowned, exchanging glances with Versé. "Did she say why?"

Reka's lips twitched and she gave a slight shake of her head. "No, but I'm told she's barely lucid."

"Where is she?"

"In our medical station, along with your friend. I'll take you there, if you wish."

"Please," Claria nodded, curious.

Réka led Claria and Verse to the ranch's modest but comfortable med station, which was in a separate building a few dozen meters from the main house. Upon entering the main ward, Claria's eyes first fell upon Saché, deep in sleep in the far bed. Claria gathered that Saché must be sedated, for there was no way she could hold onto a natural sleep given the ruckus that her roommate was making.

Laicha Kova was thrashing in the second bed, drenched in sweat, and swearing loudly at the medic as Claria and Réka entered the room. Her eyes darted to the two noblewomen and narrowed fiercely. "I don't want to talk to her," she said loudly at Claria, jerking her chin towards Réka. "Just you. Get off me!" Giving a violent lurch, Laicha threw an elbow at the medic, who scowled as he warded off the blow and firmly lowered her arm back down to her side.

"Your Highness, I would advise against this," the gruff, elderly medic advised. "I'm not entirely certain that anything she says can be trusted."

"Nobody asked you, you stuck-up _konatch_," Laicha snarled. Her eyes were bloodshot and fevered.

"I'll take my chances," Claria said calmly.

The medic gave a disapproving grunt as he once again wrested Laicha's arm out of harm's way. He glanced over his shoulder to a younger assistant who was watching the scene slight apprehension. "Help me get her in the restraints," he ordered.

It took the two men a good three minutes to accomplish this feat, while Claria and Réka stood observing. Once restrained, the chief medic administered a sedative. "I can't give her anything stronger," he explained to Claria, "much as I'd like to. I have no idea how it would react to that drug breaking down in her system."

Laicha was still glaring evilly at the medic as he put away his needle. "Is she going to live through this?" Claria asked quietly.

The old man's features were frustrated. "I wish I could say," he said. "The last case of this kind I've witnessed was in my offworld days, and that was a glitterstim addict. This is much, much worse. Medical research on the effects of glowquartz is difficult to come by. I certainly won't find it on Naboo."

"You'll do best to contact Coruscant," Claria advised. She glanced over her shoulder at Versé, who nodded. "Ask Lord Retisan if you might use his comm system. You can use the queen's royal access codes to access any relevant data in the capital archives. My handmaiden will show you."

A fond smile cracked on the old man's leather-like features. "Well, thank you kindly, my lady. In the mean time, keep your distance with this one, eh?" he asked, looking back at Laicha, who had stopped thrashing. Instead, she sat staring resolutely straight ahead, her jaw clenched so tightly Claria was surprised it didn't snap in two.

The medic followed Versé out the door. "Please leave us," Claria commanded quietly to Réka, who gave a stiff bow and followed, her face impassive. Once alone with the sullen Laicha, Claria stepped quietly toward the bed, stopping just beyond arm's length.

"I was told you wanted to see me?" she asked quietly.

Laicha's eyes snapped to Claria as if surprised to see her there. She inhaled deeply and looked around. "You're sure that harpy's gone?" she asked.

"Réka stepped outside," Claria confirmed, trying not to smile in spite of herself.

Laicha inhaled again, straining against her arm and leg restraints, her face screwing up with extreme discomfort. She seemed to be having trouble breathing, and sweat was still pouring off her. "If I tell you," she began as her pain seemed to settle down once more, "anything of value can I keep from going to prison?"

"I'm not in a position to make that kind of promise."

"You're a Princess of Theed," Laicha retorted.

Claria raised an eyebrow. "But not Queen. If you're willing to help my sister's administration put an end to this cartel, then I'm certain your efforts will not go unacknowledged, but I cannot make any guarantees."

Laicha turned her head away, clearly frustrated. "Fine," she muttered. Claria held her tongue, waiting while Laicha tossed her options around internally. At last she said, with a tenuous manner, "Mirak learned that the research station up on the lake – the one that's keeping tabs on the colo population – was onto him. Or they were going to be, once they got the fish tagged like they were planning. So he began siphoning off funds from his father's bank accounts, enough to buy off one of the scientists at the station and to start funding his eventual escape plans.

"He bought off—?" Claria began.

"There's a mole at the research station," Laicha said. "He gave Mirak the frequencies for tracking each and every colo that the scientists have managed to tag, and the nests too. The substance we're harvesting is the most concentrated in the unhatched colo eggs, and a good nest can yield thousands of grams. Your friends have already discovered the complex. Mirak will probably kill them, and when your security forces arrive to back them up, they'll find the place already abandoned. The well is drying up. We've been planning this for months."

"What do you expect me to do with this information?" Claria asked.

"Mirak is going to raid one of the colo nests and then try to flee the planet. Without me," Laicha added, her eyes flashing angrily again. She gave a brittle laugh. "I want you to stop him. Then he can see how it feels to be betrayed."

* * *

"To the lake," Obi-Wan said curtly, and his apprentice nodded back his agreement. It was the most likely route whereby the young fugitive could make a true getaway. Leaving Master Caine and her Padawan to deal with both the captives and those rescued, Obi-Wan and Anakin took off in pursuit of Mirak Retisan.

"Take me with you," Sabé said, stepping up with all of her usual brusque confidence, falling in behind the two Jedi.

"Not this time, Senator," Obi-Wan commanded, with equal surety. Sabé was nearly jogging in her efforts to keep up.

"Ben—" she began to argue.

He wheeled around, fixating her with a forceful stare that brimmed with stubborn determination. She balked, taking a step backward. His words were low, but unyielding. "Not this time," he repeated, holding her eyes. Then he looked behind them, back where Sabé's brother and the others were watching the confrontation with unconcealed interest. "You're needed here," Obi-Wan added. "Your sister's security force will arrive soon from Rialdas, and they'll be looking for you. There's nothing else you can do with this. Anakin and I can handle it."

Sabé turned around, following his gaze toward the others, then glanced back at him, her annoyance clear. "Fine," she muttered. "Just be careful."

_Easier to do without you along, Sabé_.

Relieved, Obi-Wan did not linger to watch her return. Instead, he turned back to Anakin, and without a word, Master and Padawan took off running.

Once outside the building, they nearly collided with the dark-haired young man whose life Master Caine had saved upon their arrival. He was out of breath. _Ceidron_, Prince Richard had called him.

"I followed him," Ceidron said to the Jedi, pointing back. "Down to the bottom level of the bazaar, but I couldn't keep up. There's access to the lake down there. He took some kind of submersible. He's gone. None left." He put his hands on his knees, still breathing heavily.

"What sort of vessel?" Obi-Wan asked. "Did you get a look at it?"

Frustrated, the young man shook his head. "Not a good one. Only the wake."

Anakin caught Obi-Wan's eye. "The bongos," he said quietly, then raised an eyebrow. "One apiece?"

"I think that would give us an advantage, yes."

"Bongos?" the man called Ceidron repeated. "Where—?"

Obi-Wan clapped him twice on the shoulder. "Thank you, my friend," he said, and took off after Anakin once more.

"But—" their informant called desperately to their retreating backs. Obi-Wan did not turn around. He was already pulling out his breathing device. It would be a quicker swim to the anchored vessels if he didn't have to worry about oxygen along with everything else. His only concern was that the errant drug dealer hadn't spied the bongos in his mad flight and seen fit to eliminate their potential threat.

To his relief, they were both still bobbing peacefully on the water, within visual range as Obi-Wan and Anakin approached the lakeshore. They wasted no time taking to the water, swimming as fast as humanly-with-the-help-of-the-Force possible. Obi-Wan didn't care to think of the advantage that Retisan already had on them. It would make tracking him down all the more tedious.

After scrambling into one of the two vessels – and immensely grateful for the Gungans' ingenious siphoning membrane that dried him off as he passed through it – Obi-Wan took the familiar controls. He was already below the surface and heading out into deeper waters as he activated the radio. "Anakin?"

"Yes, Master. I'm here."

"Good. Can you get any sense on Retisan?"

"Not yet, but I'm still looking. There's a lot of life in this lake."

"Apparently not as much as there used to be," Obi-Wan muttered, thinking sadly of the beautiful beast that lay so indifferently slaughtered in the building they'd just left behind. "My guess is that Retisan has a secret means of offworld transport somewhere else along the lakeshore. He can't be hoping to escape through the taxway, particularly not if he's piloting a ship of human make. They wouldn't be as maneuverable as a Gungan ship."

"I agree. We should start a systematic search for points of interest along the shore."

"Good thinking. I'll do that part. You continue to search for Retisan's imprint on the Force."

"Yes, Master."

Keeping an eye out on the waters ahead of him, Obi-Wan began searching through the Gungan database for any features that would flag his attention about Lake Erana. A smile touched his lips as he idly realized that maybe Sabé would have been of some help after all. Still, he was glad he'd convinced her to stay behind.

Obi-Wan and Anakin had been in dubious pursuit of their quarry for approximately fifteen minutes, and Obi-Wan was beginning to suspect they'd taken a wrong turn. Then his radio crackled.

"— ssage for Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. Repeat, this is Princess Claria Elsinoré Naberrie. Master Kenobi, do you read?"

Obi-Wan peered at the comm for a moment, feeling not unlike it had suddenly begun flowering with sage blossoms. If he were expecting any communications from the surface, he would have wagered they'd come from Sabé or Master Caine, not from Sabé's sister Claria, whom Obi-Wan hadn't seen since the Battle of Naboo, and certainly of whom he remembered little.

Still, it was obviously not a coincidence. He wasted no further time in responding. "This is Obi-Wan Kenobi," he said.

"Oh, thank the stars," the princess said. Obi-Wan could practically feel her breath of relief coming over the speaker. "Sabé called me from the bazaar. You can imagine how surprised I was to hear from her."

"I can at that," Obi-Wan said, chuckling despite himself. "What can I do for you, Princess?"

"I won't waste a lot of time explaining, but we put the pieces together, and I have information that will probably help you find Mirak before he gets away. Ceidron told us he'd gone underwater and that you were following him by similar means."

"Any information you have for us would be most welcome, Princess."

"Well, I can't guarantee that it's reliable, but I'm pretty sure it's worth a try. Mirak's ex-girlfriend, whose in a fairly vindictive mood right now, I can tell you, told us that he's after a deposit of eggs he knows about which are nested in the lake bed approximately seven or eight kilometers from the bazaar, bearing ten degrees northeast. I also have transceiver codes for the drake protecting the nest. He's a monster, the biggest in these waters."

"Of course he is," Obi-Wan muttered under his breath.

"Follow the transceiver codes, and I think you'll find Mirak. And Master Kenobi?"

"Yes, Princess?"

"Try to get there in time to save the eggs. I'm in a room full of very livid scientists right now. You'd make their day if you could pull that off."

"I'll do everything I can, I promise. Thank you, Princess. I'll keep an open channel in case you have any new information for me."

"Certainly. And thank you too, Master Kenobi."

The transmission ended, but not before Obi-Wan confirmed receipt of the transceiver codes the princess had spoken of. "Anakin? Were you listening?"

"Yes, Master. I'm already entering these frequencies into the navigational controls."

"As am I."

"I think we're pretty close," Anakin continued after they'd had a moment to review the data yielded by the combined technologies. "He's further south, looks like a deep grotto of some kind not far from the taxway."

"Then let's get a move on. Keep low to the terrain if you can. Maybe we'll get lucky and avoid attention from all parties."

"I thought you didn't believe in luck."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "Just get a move on, Padawan."

"Yes, Master."

Renewed with purpose, the two bongos cut more rapidly through the dark water. Obi-Wan sank deeper into his connection with the Force, using the challenge of the lakebed's craggy terrain to sharpen his senses and hone his reflexes. His primary concern was what they would find once they reached it.

Within ten minutes they were nearing the grotto, and both bongos slowed by unspoken mutual instinct. "I've got him, Master," said Anakin. "He's alone. His emotional state is _definitely_ unstable. Whether it's an effect of the drug itself or withdrawal, I can't say. If you want to risk boosting the sensors, you can probably get a read on whatever it is he's piloting."

"Not quite yet," said Obi-Wan. "What can you tell me about the colo first?"

"Actually, there are two," said Anakin. "The male that Princess Elsinoré was speaking of and a female. She's staying close to the nest, but the drake is pretty agitated. I think he knows something's not right, but he doesn't seem to have noticed Retisan yet. Master, I think if we want to avoid bloodshed, we should act quickly."

"I agree," said Obi-Wan. "Very well. I'll try to deal with Retisan. You protect those eggs."

"I'm with you."

"Turning on sensors."

Obi-Wan had only a moment to review the specs the bongo's computer spooled up regarding Mirak Retisan's ship before the poaching vessel _and_ its prey took note of the newcomer. The squat, round-windowed steel submersible was suddenly flooded with light from Anakin's bongo, and Obi-Wan cursed the design in the Gungan technology that included the exterior lighting as an intractable part of the sensor systems.

In a flash of déjà vu he saw, just beyond the submersible, the long, fanged snout of the colo and watched as its great eye dilated severely in the sudden onslaught of light. Then, just as it had the last time he'd, the beast reared in fury and the chase was on.

Anakin's bongo veered first, and the drake locked instantly on this first flash of movement. The long, lithe body followed the tiny vessel in a veering course up and away from the deep, dark grotto, and Obi-Wan wasted no time taking advantage of the opportunity Anakin had given him. He set a course toward Retisan's ship, which had lingered in hesitation for a moment, but was now also taking advantage of the colo's momentary distraction. Together, the two ships plunged into the grotto.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure whether to be grateful or annoyed that the bongo had no weapons to speak of. He didn't know exactly how he could get Retisan to give up his flight without being able to frighten him or disable him, but the grotto was deep and narrow, and to fire in such terrain would be tricky and ill-advised. That was on top of the danger already posed by the thousands of cubic meters of water pressing down on them and two very unhappy colo claw fish lurking about. He had the advantage over Retisan for speed and maneuverability. Probably the best strategy was to keep the other ship busy until he ran out of fuel or willpower, and try shepherding him away from the nest in the meantime.

Unfortunately, Retisan seemed aware of all of this. He also seemed to be in possession of weapons, which he foolishly began firing less than a minute after Obi-Wan's pursuit began.

"Blast," Obi-Wan muttered, wincing as the torpedoes Retisan had just fired impacted the cavern wall ahead of him and dislodged several large boulders ahead, which began breaking off into the crevasse, obliging Obi-Wan to slow down and narrowly avoid smashing into each and every one of them. It was not unlike trying to fly through an asteroid field, and when he cleared the obstacle, he saw that Retisan once again had a sizeable lead.

Breathing a curse, Obi-Wan hastened to follow. Retisan was still keeping to the trench, and Obi-Wan guessed he didn't wish to leave the relative safety of the more difficult terrain. If he rose out into open waters, he risked more exposure, and likely knew that the bongo had the advantage over him. Then there was the danger presented by the angry colos.

A third, and likely inclusive, possibility was that Retisan knew where to find this nest that Princess Elsinoré had spoken of, and it was anyone's guess how close he was to reaching this goal, or what he'd do once he got there. His reckless behavior at the moment precluded any number of disastrous outcomes.

"Anakin, how are you doing?" Obi-Wan risked asking over the comm. A plan of sorts had just sprung into his mind and for that he needed Anakin's assistance.

It was a moment before his Padawan replied. "Well, it's a complicated kind of dance, Master, but fortunately I got some practice earlier."

"Good to hear," Obi-Wan replied, smiling slightly. Retisan's vessel was still weaving in and out of his sights in the grotto ahead. "Any sign of the female?"

"She's still below. I don't think she'll risk leaving that nest unless you provoke her, but you're coming up fast."

"That's where Retisan is heading. I can't catch up to him this way but I suspect if I try to go up and bypass him that he'll double back on me."

"You want me to try and cut him off before he gets there?"

"Can you?"

"It's possible. But it's going to be tight."

"Do what you can. I'll try and close the gap a little more."

"You'd better be ready to deal with a very angry daddy."

"Understood."

Just as Obi-Wan closed the comm connection, Retisan released another volley from his weapons systems. Obi-Wan felt the bongo shudder to match the water all around it, vibrating from the blast and gritted his teeth to dodge another wave of dislodged boulders. He wasn't entirely successful, feeling one or two impact on the side of his ship. Clearing the debris, he could feel the vessel listing slightly, but it still seemed to be functional.

Given the lag between the first and second firings, Obi-Wan was willing to bet that Retisan was choosing his shots carefully, that he had only a limited amount of weaponry to play with. Obi-Wan's focus then became three-fold. Speed, navigation, and analysis of the landscape ahead, in order to make a logical guess as to when his opponent would choose to fire again.

Anakin hadn't been wrong about cutting it close. In short bursts as his concentration would allow, Obi-Wan also checked the status of the second colo with the sensors. They were almost upon her. He was pretty sure Retisan had probably just entered the stretch of cavern where the mother colo was waiting when Anakin finally arrived, bringing with him his aggravated pursuer. Obi-Wan felt them pass him overhead, and the speed of the great drake's passing made the water around him tremble as had the last weapons' fire.

The next events followed each other in blinding succession. Anakin's bongo, twisting crazily through the water, descended in between Retisan's oncoming vessel on one side, and the coiled, lurking figure of the mother colo opposite, guarding her nest with dormant ferocity about to be tested.

Retisan gave a great, reckless swerve to avoid colliding with the newcomer. He was obliged to descend further, as Anakin was still being hotly pursued by the male colo, who hadn't followed directly into the cavern but was now maintaining a tight, vigilant circuit in the waters above them. Retisan came dangerously close to colliding with the grotto itself, where below him two outcroppings pushed toward each other to make a narrow gateway into a lower part of the grotto.

Anakin's movements mirrored those of the renegade, but were filled with calculated grace instead of panicked reflexes. He veered around and headed even closer to the danger of the mother colo in order to cut Retisan off. She took a snap at the bongo, and with a burst of speed, Anakin twisted away from her.

Retisan was undoubtedly alarmed to look up and see the other ship right on top of him when he'd thought it was behind. That and the fact that just behind Anakin's vessel, the luminescent body of the colo claw fish made her all too visible and menacing undoubtedly accounted for the fact that he chose that moment to fire his weapons again. Several times.

Obi-Wan knew in a moment that it had been a very, very bad idea. Anakin was easily able to dodge the volley, but he was not able to prevent them from colliding, one after the other, with the cavern wall beyond.

The explosions tore pockets of fire into the rock and the water. Though quickly doused, the repercussions of the barrage only seemed to grow, and Obi-Wan knew that within moments, half this section of the grotto wall was going to come crashing down, crushing all of them in blackness.

Retisan's vessel succumbed immediately. Without the maneuverability of a bongo or the aide of the Force his escape was virtually impossible. The stirring of silt and debris caused by the explosion had rendered Obi-Wan's vision useless, but he clung to every piece of rock with the Force and felt Retisan's panic and fear as the consequences of his hasty action came pelting down upon him, overpowering him. Shards of rock punctured the sides of the vessel and water came pouring in. Obi-Wan was aware when Retisan's spark of life snuffed out, and likewise felt the death of the female colo a few moments later.

All this he observed as he made his own escape from the cavern. Choosing a hasty route up and out, willing to risk the waiting jaws of the drake in open waters rather than the narrow death trap the grotto had now become. He could only trust Anakin would do the same. There was nothing now to be done to save the nest.

Or so he had thought.

The fury of the surviving colo took quite a long time to evade. Obi-Wan had no chance of placating the creature with the Force. He dodged and swerved and otherwise evaded, waiting anxiously for Anakin's vessel to emerge from the rubble so that they might make their hasty retreat back to dry ground. He could sense his Padawan was still alive. Hardy, even, but extremely focused. With a mixture of apprehension and curiosity, Obi-Wan tried the comm.

"Anakin, what are you doing? I can't hold this thing off forever!"

"I need your help, Master."

"With what?"

"Come and see."

"In case you noticed, I'm a little busy."

"He can't follow you. There's not much room left down here."

Swearing a bit, Obi-Wan veered around, back towards the grotto. He slowed as much as he dared before approaching the remains. What he found should perhaps not have surprised him, but it did.

Anakin's bongo was stationary, holding position several dozen meters into the fissure. Below him, the rubble from the explosion had mostly settled, choking out what had once been a deeper cavern. Obi-Wan spotted what he thought was part of the mother colo's body peeking out from between the fallen boulders. Instinctively, however, he knew that the damage should have been far more severe, and he was witnessing the reason why.

Anakin was holding back part of the cascade with the Force. Above their heads, more loosened, broken parts of the grotto wall were trembling, straining to yield to gravity, and Anakin gripped them all with his mind as though the Force were a thousand-fingered hand.

"The nest is just through there," he told Obi-Wan over the comm. "I can see it straight on from my position. The eggs kind of glow too so it's easy. They're sheltered in an outcropping but if I let go…"

"Understood."

It took quite some time and his own share of telekinetic prowess to move the eggs – there were about a dozen – to a safer place further down in the grotto. It gave Obi-Wan a lot of time to think on the unparalleled connection his Padawan had on the Force, which had not manifested so strongly in a really long time.

He was still thinking on it when they finally headed back.

* * *

**A/N**: Um... what is there to say? I'm sorry? (hides) I apologize, not just for the long wait for this update, but for the sloppy job I made of it too. And I'm sorry there wasn't a lot of interpersonal stuff in the chapter, which I know is what most of you who are reading this enjoy, but the plot had to be finished, and _that_ now being accomplished (for the most part), we can get back to the fun stuff.

I can reasonably promise that the next update won't be too long from now. "The fun stuff" is a lot easier to write, and I'm not going to focus on any other of my stories until this one is finished.

Until then, take care!

-- Saché


	19. When You Say Nothing at All

**Chapter Nineteen** – _When You Say Nothing at All_

All the beds in Retisan Ranch's modest infirmary were full. Also occupied was the ranch's medic, which was probably the only reason Yvenne was getting away with hobbling around so much. He simply didn't have the leisure to stop her. At present, she was leaning against a stall wall where Leda, returned safe and sound from the adventure at the bazaar, was tearing voraciously into a well-deserved treat. It was kind of gross, Yvenne reflected, to be standing here watching, but with all the hullabaloo back at the house, the stables were by far the calmest place on the ranch.

Time had become a kind of bubble. Her cousin was dead, over half the royal family was suddenly in residence, not to mention the media circus that _that_ had incited. There were so many people here that everyone seemed to have forgotten Yvenne, even her family. Everything was beyond surreal. What Yvenne couldn't fathom, though, was what would happen when the bubble popped. When the prince and everything he'd brought into her life took their leave, what would be left for her? She reached out and ran her hand along Leda's course fur somewhat sadly. Somehow, she didn't think she could just pick up. Too much had happened.

"I thought I might find you here."

Yvenne's fingers paused in their stroking. She waited a couple of minutes before she turned around, a little nervous about talking to Richard. She was trying to decide if she was happy or scared he'd found her here.

"Are you hiding?" he added as he joined her. He crossed his arms on the wall beside her and she resumed petting Leda as an excuse not to have to look at him. Yes, she had been hiding. From him, to be honest. She hadn't spoken to him alone since… well, it felt like forever. Not since she'd shunted aside his attentions that second time.

Turning her head slightly, she gave a slight, subdued smile. "Your Highness," she said quietly.

"You know you really should get off that ankle," he said.

"I'm okay. It feels a lot better."

They lapsed into silence. When she couldn't stand it any longer, Yvenne risked a glance over at him. He was staring somewhere in the vicinity of Leda's shoulders, but clearly his thoughts were somewhere else. As if taking Yvenne's glance as a cue, he took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry about how I treated you, Yvenne. Well, specifically how I reacted," he stammered on. "Thinking on what you said… you were right, I should have realized how it would seem from your perspective."

Though her heart was pounding several kilometers a minute, Yvenne managed an amused expression. "How many times did you practice that in the mirror this morning?" she asked.

His lips twitched, but just barely. "Quite a few, but not as much as I practiced what I'm going to say next."

Curious, she waited while he twisted his fingers nervously together. He was still having trouble looking at her. "You're going to think I'm crazy. And I am, I guess, but I'm dead serious too. I really, really, care about you, Yvenne. More than I thought was possible in so short a time. And you can call me selfish. It would be true, I mean, we've already established that, but I need you."

Uncertain what else to reply, all Yvenne could think to do was echo dumbly back. "You need me?" Her voice betrayed her bewilderment. It did nothing to reveal the rumbling thrill beneath the surface, ready to explode if whatever he said next was worthy of a charming storybook prince.

He nodded emphatically. "To keep me grounded. To keep being my friend. Yvenne, sometimes I look at you, and—" here he stopped and actually did look at her, his expression a complicated mix of longing and hope, "—I see this other person, this version of me who's just a boy playing king. I've never met a lot of people outside my family who look at me trying to find a person behind all the trappings. And that's why I need you, why—" he swallowed, then plunged on, "—why I want you."

Yvenne hadn't thought it possible her heart rate could have actually increased, but it had. Her stomach also decided to join in the fun. "I don't understand," she said slowly. "Are you—?" She shook her head as if trying to shake her thoughts into order. Her next words were going to sound a bit silly, but she couldn't think of any other way to say it, not to a prince. "Are you trying to ask if you can court me?" She hoped that wasn't an incorrect guess, otherwise she was going to be pretty embarrassed in about two seconds.

He shook his head. "No, no. No, Yvenne, I—" He reached over, took her fingers tentatively with his own until they were twisted together. "It's more than that." He caught her eyes with his own. "I'm trying to tell you that I love you, Yvenne. I'm asking you to marry me."

* * *

Claria woke with the news of her little brother's engagement as the first thought in her head. Her head had been buzzing with it when she went to sleep, sharing a bed with Sabé, of all things, so it really wasn't all that surprising. That didn't make the news any less astonishing.

Then she remembered that he wanted to be married before the coronation, which gave them about eight weeks to plan a royal wedding and she turned over and groaned into her pillow. Probably that's why Sabé was already out of bed. Grumbling under her breath, Claria kicked off the covers and began looking around for something to wear. She needed to track down her sister and they were going to need to get back to Theed. Preferably _today_.

Apart from the servants, the only people she found awake were the Jedi, who were sharing a meal together in the dining room. She wasn't surprised. Everyone had been up pretty late celebrating the night before.

"Good morning, Masters," she said, giving a small, respectful curtsey. The four Jedi nodded their heads, almost in unison.

"Good morning, Princess Elsinoré," said Obi-Wan Kenobi, putting down his napkin and smiling genially. "I trust you slept well?"

"As well as can be expected, Master Kenobi, thank you. But I fear my brother's announcement has put us all on something of a tight schedule. My sister and I will be returning to Theed as soon as possible. You're all welcome to join us, or to come later with Prince Richard, but I hope you'll honor us by paying a visit to Theed before you return home."

Obi-Wan Kenobi exchanged glances with his comrade, Master Caine. "We'll discuss it. I'm sure the Council will be more than willing to allow us a few days' respite."

"It would be our pleasure. That's twice now that Naboo owes you a great debt, Master Kenobi. And you too, Master Skywalker," Claria said, smiling fondly at the handsome young Padawan, who gave an abashed smile, reminding her of the little boy she'd briefly met those many years ago.

"Don't be so modest, Princess," Anakin said. "You did your part. Without your radio transmission we may never have reached Mirak Retisan in time to prevent further destruction."

"We destroyed half an underground cavern, Anakin. I'd hardly call that less destruction," said Master Kenobi, but the twinkle in his eye as he glanced over at his Padawan reflected his pride in his apprentice. He turned back to Claria. "Nevertheless, I agree with Anakin. Your assistance was helpful and quite timely, I might add."

"Will you join us for breakfast, Princess?" asked the younger Padawan, Helaine, with a polite and hopeful expression.

Claria smiled. "Thank you, but I fear I cannot." Truthfully, she was far too agitated to eat. "I was actually in search of Princess Sabé, have you seen her?"

"She's in the infirmary, if I'm not mistaken," said Master Kenobi, reaching out to refill his glass of juice. "Visiting your young handmaiden friend."

"Thank you, Master. Good day to all of you."

Claria headed off in the direction of the infirmary, which required a brief walk out of doors. On the way she nodded gracious returns to every hand and security officer who stopped to bow their respects, but fortunately, they kept a respectful distance. She was relieved. There really wasn't time for much small talk today.

The medic was nowhere to be found, but his aide brightened at the sight of Claria. "The Princess Vána is already with your friend, m'lady," he said. "Go right on in."

"Thank you."

The sight of Saché sitting upright and fully dressed brought a huge smile to Claria's face. She was sitting on the bed with her legs over the sides and Sabé was in the chair beside her. Their heads were bent together, speaking in low voices and giggling about something. Saché looked positively radiant. She glanced up and saw Claria standing in the doorway and her smile widened even more. "Claria!"

"Good morning," Claria said. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

Sabé made a violent roll of her eyes. "She's more than fine. Claria, I swear, if you tell me _you_ got engaged yesterday I'm going into a convent on Bimmissari and I'm not coming out for a year."

Only then did Claria notice the necklace of red jewels and polished stones resting gracefully on Saché's collarbone. "You got engaged?!" she cried.

Saché blushed bright red and nodded but she didn't stop smiling.

"Oh, wow. Wow! Congratulations!"

"Thank you."

"Where is Jon?" Claria asked, looking around and realizing for the first time it was rather odd for him to not be hovering.

"He started back to Theed this morning, and then he's going to Coruscant to get some business wrapped up before Richard's wedding. He wants to make it back in time, and if he gets things cleaned up there _and_ his Rinalio agreement signed then we'll have months to plan the wedding together when he gets back." Saché gave a happy sigh and fell backwards onto the bed, still grinning.

"Hmmph. Months to plan the wedding," Sabé repeated, looking at Claria was a knowing expression. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

"No kidding. Where did Jon get a necklace so fast, Sach?" Claria asked, finally stepping in closer and sitting on the other bed. Laicha Kova had been stabilized the previous day and transferred to a research hospital in Theed.

"In Rialdas. Yesterday, while I was sleeping, apparently."

"And when did he propose? I mean, besides yesterday, obviously."

"Last night before he left. It was actually pretty cruel of him. He made me so happy I couldn't sleep, and I wanted to tell you all but I couldn't go around waking everybody up even if I'd been allowed to leave this hateful room, which of course I wasn't. But the medic's letting me go back to Theed with the two of you today. Thank goodness."

"Jon always was pretty dense," said Sabé, shaking her head. "What a thing to do to a girl. Granted, I'm still trying to get over the shock of the idea of you two at all. I thought I was so smart. Dormé tried to tell me, but I wouldn't listen."

"Dormé what?"

"At the gala, on Coruscant, right before Ben— I mean, Master Kenobi— and I and the others left for Jenispra. You and Jon were dancing and Dormé told me she suspected he liked you. I told her she was crazy."

"She's a shrewd one, that Dormé."

"Did you call her yet?" Claria asked, without thinking. Still lying prone on the bed, Saché looked over, then looked at her medical prison, then back at Claria appraisingly. "Okay, stupid question," Claria said, holding up her hands and laughing. Her eyes fell once more on Saché's forget-me-not and she began asking all the appropriate questions about what Jon had said, how he had presented it, whether or not there had been kissing, and all the other important things.

After Saché had her fill of gushing, Claria realized something and turned to Sabé with a frown. "I'd forgotten. Mother's necklace, for Richard, do we—?" After their mother's death, Claria and Sabé had recovered the necklace that their father had given their mother, a gift ultimately intended for Richard.

Sabé nodded. "I thought of that too. I still have it. I'll give it to him as soon as we all get back to Naboo. I don't think he knows about it still, so before he goes out and gets one of his own…" she trailed off.

"Good point."

There was movement in the doorway, and all three girls turned at the sound.

"Yvenne!" said Saché happily, and hopped off the bed and across the room to wrap the redhead in a hearty embrace. "It's so good to see you. Congratulations."

Looking extremely shy, Yvenne glanced between the three women. "Thank you. I heard you're going to be released today. That's so good to hear."

"How did it go with your uncle?" Sabé asked.

Yvenne nodded. "Much as I expected. I can tell he's still surprised and not terribly pleased about the engagement, but we managed to work out the affairs of the ranch with civility. Torak's going to be taking over for me, but I'll be staying here for two more weeks to kind of help smooth the transition. They're already treating me different—my hands, I mean. It's… really weird. I wish they wouldn't."

Claria looked over at Sabé and the two sisters shared a mutual knowing look. Sabé smiled kindly. "Yvenne, I wonder if you would do me the honor of showing me how to ride one of those amazing tusk cats in your stables," she said. "Preferably, the sweetest, oldest, slowest, and most docile."

Yvenne looked puzzled. "Certainly, Highness, but I understood you were leaving for Theed today. Forgive me, but aren't there a great many things you said you needed to attend to?"

Sabé nodded. "Yes, and talking to you is one of them."

* * *

The sweetest, oldest, slowest, and most docile tusk cat in the stable was a grizzled old male named Sedo, a fact at which Princess Sabé expressed her surprise. "I would have thought the females would be gentler."

Yvenne laughed. "Ask your brother some time about his first week here, Highness," she said. "The females are far more aggressive in this species. The males tend to be a bit lazy, truth be told."

After helping the princess to get saddled and set, the two women headed out into the plains. The sun was warm but the recent rains had cooled the atmosphere, and the brilliant green that pocketed the landscape this time of year had begun bursting forth out of every crack and crevice. Yvenne would miss the rainy season. It only came for a brief time.

It took Princess Sabé a little while to focus on anything but how to stay on the tusk cat. At some point, she must have realized that Sedo was going to follow Leda wherever Yvenne directed her anyway, so she gave up trying to lead him. Only then did she begin to speak what was on her mind.

"You're going to have to get used to calling me Sabé," Sabé said. "I understand it probably feels strange, but you're entering into a world that's stranger by far. If you continue to look at us as your betters instead of your friends you're going to feel very isolated."

Yvenne involuntarily squeezed a little tighter to Leda's back with her knees, suddenly nervous. Exactly what was this interview about? Admittedly, it had seemed a little strange to her that her future sister-in-law would deliberately solicit her company without an ulterior motive, but she'd been at a loss to suppose what that might be.

Sabé must have noticed Yvenne's discomfort. She gave a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry. That was a horrid beginning. Let me try again." They rode on in silence for a few moments, Sabé looking thoughtful. Then she spoke up. "First thing, I don't ever want you to feel like you're unwelcome in our family. I'll admit," she said nodding and making a wry expression, "Richard's haste in proposing wasn't something I was thrilled about at first, but I like you very much, in what little I've gotten to know of you.

"It's because of that that I wanted to have this conversation. Yvenne, there are a whole lot of people in court who aren't going to be happy about this. But between the two of you, Richard is still the king. You're the one who will bear the brunt of the disapproval. I wonder have you considered that at all?"

She had. "Yes, your Highness—"

"Sabé."

Yvenne hesitated a moment before conceding. "Yes, Sabé," she said. "I don't know what the exact repercussions will be, but I've spent my whole life being looked down on for my birth. It's nothing I can't handle."

Sabé nodded her approval. "Good. As far as the exact repercussions go, well, you can already imagine, most people who have issue with you will have no better reason than they feel themselves superior to others. I used to be like that," she added quietly in an afterthought. "But I was a child. Not everyone in court has such a fine excuse.

"Now, there will be a more sagacious bunch quick to point out that due to your background, you don't have the expertise to be an effective queen from a political standpoint."

"They would be right," Yvenne pointed out matter-of-factly.

Sabé squinted over her and shrugged with a smile. "Maybe not so much as they think. You've already been a leader of people, after all, and a competent one from what I've seen. I don't think it will be very hard for you to adapt to the intricacies of Naboo politics. We can help you there, and we will. Padmé especially, when she comes home."

At the mention of Richard's other sister, Yvenne's stomach gave a flip-flop as it had every time she'd realized that the legendary Queen Amidala, liberator of the Naboo, was about to become her sister. It was bad enough that two iconic Jedi heroes from that battle had eaten breakfast in her house this morning.

"There's one more thing I have to ask you," Sabé said, interrupting Yvenne's thoughts. She looked uncomfortable. "And please forgive me for my boldness, I really have no right, but—"

"I may have a habit of being too formal, Sabé, but I'm not afraid of you," Yvenne said, meeting the older girl's eyes with a slight challenge.

Sabé gave a wide grin. "Okay then. Richard is my little brother. He's a good man, and I know he'll be a good husband. But you don't know him as well as I do yet. Why _did_ you accept his proposal? If you're a woman of as much sense as you appear to be, you must have had some inhibitions."

Yvenne had reflected on this matter so long herself that her answer was not hard to retrieve. "I have a strong affection for him, Your Highness," she said soberly. "I'd even venture to say I love him, or I feel the beginnings of what will be love. But more than that—" she hesitated, trying to think of how best to put into words her next thought. "He didn't try to rescue me," she finished.

"I'm sorry?"

"Richard. He saw my situation, my place in this family, the way they've looked down on me, yet he didn't propose to me because he wanted to save me from all that. He proposed because he wants _me_." At those words, she couldn't help but blush, but she continued on. "That's as much as any woman can ask for. Had it been otherwise, I probably would have said no."

Sabé considered these words and finally gave a slow nod. She seemed to have greatly relaxed. "We're going to be good friends, Yvenne," she said. She twisted around to face behind them. "But now I really do need to start getting back." She rolled her eyes. "I can't believe he did this to us. Do you have any idea what it takes to plan a function of this kind in six weeks? In the winter no less!"

"I can imagine, your— Sabé."

"Well, in either case I can't wait to introduce you to Theed when you come. Just be sure to bring warm clothes. Wait, what am I saying? You're rich like us now. We'll buy you a whole new wardrobe."

At the look of shock on Yvenne's face, Sabé burst out laughing.

* * *

Two days back in Theed, Ceidron was back at work. He'd expected to catch some grief from his ecology professor for missing the midterm exam, but to his surprise his adventure helping the Naberrie siblings to make an intergalactically renowned drug bust had vaulted him into celebrity status overnight. His professor's eagerness to help Ceidron in making up the missed time was actually kind of unnerving. Ceidron felt, not like a person, but like an icon. It did not escape him that his association with Claria had ultimately made him into the very thing he'd despised about her and her family when he'd first come here.

Sourly, he yanked open the door to the freezer. He'd been spending most of his time in the back of the café, and was learning quite a lot about cooking from the star-struck new young chef who had a propensity to giggle at him every time he did so much as chop an onion.

He still disagreed with Naboo's government on principle. He was pretty sure that was never going to change. It didn't matter how long the string of successive benign and gracious monarchs lasted, at some point it was going to fail them. That was a statistical fact. All the more reason he felt like such a hypocrite.

He missed Claria. For the entirety of the incident in Rial they'd barely spoken more than two perfunctory words to each other and now he was left with a despairing feeling that any chance to repair the damage was slipping away like water through a particularly porous sieve. It didn't matter if she was a princess. That had stopped being important after Lornaira. He missed her wit and her passion, her kindness, her smile, her compassion, the feeling of her small hand on his shoulder.

_So why don't you do something about it?_

The truth was, he was terrified. He didn't want to know the full scope of her feelings about what he'd tried to initiate between them. To know would probably only make him feel more mortified than he already did. Self-loathing was a hard thing to live with. It didn't help that Jon Bakuro had departed Rial with the insufferable happiness of having won the love of his life.

"Hey, Cee?"

Having just finished lifting a crate of frozen fish onto a higher shelf, Ciedron turned. The manager was standing in the door of the freezer with an awkward smile on her face. "There's someone at the back door for you," she said.

"Ally, you promised no one—"

"I think," she said firmly, cutting off his protest, "you'll want to take this one."

Grumbling, he jumped down from the step stool and followed her out the door.

Claria was pacing within the small square of duracrete that served as the receiving area for supplies, wringing her hands. Her personal guard and a handmaiden Ceidron didn't recognize were flanking the back door. When she saw Ceidron, she abruptly stopped fidgeting, though she still seemed nervous. "Hi," she said simply.

"Hi," he replied. Slowly, he walked toward her.

"Um," she said, "is there somewhere we could go to talk? In private?" she added quietly, looking around at the kitchen staff, all of whom were staring at Claria as paralyzed as wax figures. All except the giggly new chef, who wore a rather pronounced scowl.

"Feel free to use my office, your Highness," said Ally, stepping forward helpfully. "Take all the time you need." She gestured to a door to a small room just off the side that boasted a desk, two crammed chairs, and a whole lot of shelves.

"Thank you," said Claria with a grateful nod. She turned and headed toward it, her handmaiden following at a discreet but authoritative distance. Ally gave Ceidron a goofy grin as soon the princess couldn't see, and Ceidron rolled his eyes.

Once inside the office, Ceidron closed the door. Claria was wringing her hands again. "I'm afraid I kind of shot myself in the foot when I invited you to Rial. The whole city knows you work here now _and_ that I used to patronize this place. Which means I can't safely come here anymore. Not as an anonymous guest at least, and let's face it, if I came as Princess Elsinoré it wouldn't be the same." She looked so sad. Then she looked up and met his eye. "I'm sorry for what I brought down on you."

"Oh, hey, you know," he said, shrugging, "the tips are great." She gave an awkward laugh, and he added, "Besides, Ally deserves it, and so do all her people. Once the novelty wears off, I think she'll have the loyal customer base she always wanted."

Claria nodded. "That would be wonderful."

"So what brings you by?" he asked. The nonchalance in his voice was so inadequate for everything he was feeling.

"Oh, um, a couple things. I, um—" She blushed. "You know my brother is getting married shortly. I wanted to invite you to the wedding as my guest. And Metti too, of course. I couldn't leave him out."

Ceidron licked his lips, his brain momentarily stalled as to the most eloquent way to say yes. Claria must have taken his pause as a hesitance, for she then looked a little crestfallen. "I don't want you to read anything into it, if you don't want to. Think of it as a formal thank you for your assistance in Rial. I think between the two of them, John and Richard might have hurt themselves if it hadn't been for you." At this, she dared to glance at him and offer up a small smile.

He grinned back. "You're probably right."

Claria sobered again. "It's not just that, though." Her eyes lowered again and her voice grew very small. "I wanted to apologize, Ceidron, for my behavior when—" she was staring intently at the back of her hand resting on the desk and she seemed to need to collect herself for plunging on "—when we were in my quarters."

The floodgates were open. "Claria," he said, stepping forward. "I am so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. It was the most disrespectful thing I could have possibly… I just want you to know that I would never, _never_—"

"Ceidron," she said softly, and looked up. She shook her head. "Don't apologize. It was my fault. Believe me, you didn't do anything you weren't encouraged to do. I've been so ashamed of myself, not just for allowing things to go as far as they did, but for the small part of me that wishes I hadn't stopped you."

He raised his eyebrows. "Really?" he added, and couldn't help but let a small grin of pride escape.

She managed to glare and blush at the same time. "Shut up." Then she gave a sigh. "So that's that. I just came here hoping that I haven't damaged our friendship irreparably."

"I don't think that could ever happen," Ceidron said.

For the first time since her arrival, Claria finally seemed to relax.

"But I don't want just friends," Ceidron added. Claria started, staring at him with eyes wide, and mouthed silently for a moment. "Listen," he said, leaning forward and looking at her without compunction, "I like you. Yes, shocking, I know." She narrowed her eyes at him in mock suspicion and he laughed. "Claria—" he said. It was his turn to be awkward. "What almost happened between us… It was wrong of me to be so presumptuous and I promise I won't bring it up anymore after this, but I just wanted to let you know, I don't go down that road lightly. I never have. And I would _never_ take advantage of your convictions. In fact, in light of everything… I have to say I'm really impressed with your strength.

"What I'm trying to tell you is that I'm really, really serious when I say I like you. And I don't know if it's okay for an offworld sociology major to pursue a Princess of Naboo, but… there it is."

"So… you're asking me out?" she asked coyly.

"Hey, you're the one who came here to invite me to a wedding," he pointed out.

She laughed. "True."

"Still, I suppose given how traditional you people seem to be, I'd better do this right." He stepped forward and took her hand, holding it to his chest in a grandiose manner. She laughed again. "Claria Elsinoré Naberrie," he said, "will you go out with me? What do you say? We'll play by the rules, take it slow, see where things go? I don't know about you, but I'd sure like to find out." He grinned.

Claria rolled her eyes. "That was terrible, Ceidron. Did you take that out of a campy song book or something?" Despite her words, her smile was so huge it looked like it would break her face in half.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes," she said with a laugh. "Yes, yes, yes!" With that she flung her arms around his neck, and he thought nobody else in the galaxy had ever known what it was to be happy.

* * *

At Retisan Ranch, all was quiet. The departure of the royal family, their retinues, the security forces, and the ranch's erstwhile manager had left a gaping void of cold silence. It was echoed in the hush between father and daughter as Réka Retisan sat seething on the other side of Lord Retisan's desk. He looked at her from across the way and she glared back with hard eyes.

"What happened, Réka?" he said at last. "You assured me the prince was falling in line with our plans."

"He was, father," she snarled back. "I had him in my hand. Had it not been for that whore's daughter—" She couldn't finish her thought, but instead snapped her mouth closed and resumed seething.

Lord Retisan frowned and stood. "You'd best get over your distaste, daughter. I'm sending you to Theed for the wedding along with Arath."

Réka's eyes widened in shocked horror. "No! I refuse to go. You can't make me."

"I can and I will!" her father thundered. He exhaled sharply, causing his nostrils to flare. "I know the outcome of all of this is less than ideal, but the Klions are nothing if not patient. We may be able to turn this to our advantage."

"How?" Réka added, curious despite herself.

Retisan had turned and was now staring out the window across the rain-swept Rial plains. "Like it or not, we now have a close family connection with the royal family. So one might say our plan was fulfilled from a different perspective."

Réka snorted and slumped in her chair in a most unladylike fashion. "From your perspective maybe," she said. "_I_ was going to be queen. Anyway, if you think our family's connection with Yvenne—" she said her cousin's name through clenched teeth, "— is going to win us extra favor, you're seriously underestimating your niece. She harbors no love for us."

"For us, no. For Arath, yes."

Réka's eyebrows raised. "Arath is not a Klion. He doesn't even know about us."

"Which means your brother's spineless outlook has become an unexpected boon. He won't object to unwittingly aiding a cause he knows nothing about."

Retisan turned from the window to regard his daughter. "Perhaps Mirak's death was for the best," he added. "He too was weak, but his knowledge of our movement was becoming more dangerous the deeper he sank into his reckless lifestyle. No. I too regret Prince Richard's choice but we will deal wisely with this change in circumstance.

"You will go to Theed. You will be gracious, charming, and repentant. Arath will help you to become truly accepted within the royal family. Then we shall see what hand fate deals us next.

"Make no mistake, Réka. We may yet see the downfall of the Naberrie dominion within our lifetimes."

* * *

The day before his departure from Naboo, there was a farewell to be made which Obi-Wan knew he couldn't put off any longer. He and Anakin had been in Theed Palace for a week, and he'd only seen Sabé at formal functions. Even then they hadn't spoken. He sometimes wondered if it was him avoiding her or the other way around.

The mission, an uncontested success, was over. The Council had already conveyed their pleasure and praise from Coruscant, and he couldn't feel more satisfied with what had been accomplished, but a small part of him, deep down inside, felt an aching loss that wasn't hard to pinpoint.

He didn't search for her, but followed the bright impression she made on the Force, which seemed to be now permanently seared into his subconscious. He found her in the lower levels of the palace.

A great cavern had been hollowed out of the cliff upon which Theed Palace rested. The cavern was long and wide – two or three fighters could have easily flown abreast down its length. The ground had been leveled and covered in large, polished sandstone tiles in warm shades of earth. Lights imbedded into the rocks of the ceiling coaxed all the color in the stone walls to into view. A grand staircase from the upper levels descended at one end of this magnificent corridor. It was down these stairs that Obi-Wan came and found Sabé, standing alone in the vast expanse and staring at the other end, where the cavern opened on a view of Lornaira Valley below. She fingered something absentmindedly in one hand.

"Hello, Ben," Sabé said with a quiet smile after he stopped beside her. "My great-grandfather had this place built. It's something, isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed, looking around. "I confess I had no idea it was down here."

"Yes, well, it's really only handy for large parties. We're having the wedding here."

"Won't it be cold?" he asked. Winter was in full force in Theed. Snow had already taken up permanent residence in the streets and he could feel the icy fingers of the wind teasing his face even at this distance from the mouth of the cave. Sabé wore a very heavy gown of thick, dark blue material in a somber cut and gloves on her hands. Her head was unadorned and her face was slightly flushed with the cold. She cut something of a lonely figure.

"Not after we get three-thousand guests crammed in here, no," she remarked. "In addition, the Gungans are providing us with one of their membrane devices to cover the mouth of the cave. It should be a beautiful party."

"I'm sure it will be a sight to see," he admitted.

She turned her face to him hopefully. "You're sure you won't stay?" she asked. "It's only a few more weeks. Padmé would be so disappointed to miss you."

Obi-Wan was never going to own it to Sabé, but avoiding her twin sister was precisely the reason he was in a hurry to get away from Naboo. Specifically to get _Anakin_ away from Naboo. He shook his head. "We've delayed too long already. There is another mission the Council wants us for. You expect her within the week, right?" he asked.

She nodded distractedly. "Day after tomorrow. It was the soonest she could make it back without severely damaging some of the relationships with our offworld allies." She glanced back down toward the other end of the cavern. "Will you walk with me, Master Obi-Wan?" she asked.

Curious as to her formal manner, Obi-Wan fell into step beside her. They walked in silence for some time. Finally, he glanced down at her hands, which were still occupied with an item he couldn't quite identify, a chain or tie of some kind. "What is that you have there, Senator?" he asked.

She looked down at it, thoughtful. "It's a forget-me-not. A token of commitment between a young couple on Naboo. Most typically it's an engagement gift. This one was my mother's. It's her gift to Richard."

"You still miss her."

She nodded. "And my father. I've been thinking about them a lot these past few days. I wish they could be here to share in Richard's happiness. I wish I could ask them for counsel."

"About?"

"Many things," she said quietly. After another moment she said, "It's hard sometimes. After all these years, we still have no idea of who killed my mother, or why. It's as if I'll never really be at peace about it until I know."

Obi-Wan considered her as they walked further in silence. Her spirit was agitated, contrasting sharply with her outward control. He could sense her thoughts bouncing around, chasing each other like crazed banthas.

"So will it be another eight years before we see you again?" she finally asked softly.

They were nearly at the end of the cavern now. Obi-Wan had a good view of the first stars shining coldly above the eastern sky beyond. "I hope not," he admitted. "Sabé, what's wrong?" he asked quietly.

She stopped, and with obvious difficulty turned to face him. "Ben," she whispered, "I—" Her voice seemed to stick in her throat and she stared at him, her large brown eyes so full of pain his heart wrenched inside him.

He wondered how many Jedi in the past had stood where he was standing now, straddling so great a divide. On one side was the Jedi Order, the thing to which he'd devoted his entire life, a thing of greatness, something for which he'd never imagined to find an equal, let alone anything he wanted more. On the other side stood Sabé.

At that moment he would have given up everything, his entire life's work, for the sake of her love. But it couldn't be. The events at Lake Erana had reminded him with chilling impact the extent of Anakin's power. He knew his Padawan too well, and he knew that interrupting his training now could have very far-reaching, very disastrous consequences. The choice was already made, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had no say in the matter.

All this he longed to tell her, but no words seemed sufficient. Instead he stepped closer, looking down at her and trying to convey in one look everything he read in hers.

"I have so many things I want to say to you," Sabé said, searching his face. Her voice was so soft it barely carried. "But I feel like if I spoke the words it would be like squandering a treasure. Like if I keep them inside me, they're only mine and nobody could ever take them away."

"Then don't say them, Sabé," he said gently. He reached out with one hand and traced the side of her face. His thumb gently brushed her ear and she closed her eyes. "Don't say anything at all," he added.

Her eyes were still closed as he kissed her. The first few tastes were reserved, but then Sabé shuddered like a sob and clung more fiercely, asking for more, and he could not deny her. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her small body off the floor. He explored her mouth as though fevered, tasted the salt of her tears in his mouth, felt her breath on his skin, felt the clash of her joy and sorrow through the Force, and all of her secret words were spoken between them with no need of translation.

When he finally worked up the strength to end it, he pulled her close and for a long time they stood, not speaking.

"I love you," she finally murmured into the front of his robes. "I always will."

When he made no response, she looked up at him, a tiny spark of fear in her eyes. He could not deny her a response, not when she was in his arms, her heart laid open and vulnerable before him. "You were right," he said simply. "Not even the Jedi are greater than love. Not even me."

She relaxed into his embrace again, content with his words. He kissed her hair. A quiet ache had already taken up residence inside his heart, and he knew it was not going to go away. He looked out at the stars that would call him away tomorrow, knowing that a part of him would never leave.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Richard's wedding day was as cold as everyone had anticipated. Sabé stood between her sisters and looked on, thinking fondly of a conversation she'd shared with her baby brother a long time ago. They'd joked about the possibility he would wed before any of his three older sisters.

The priest went systematically through the traditional invocations, and Richard and his bride listened with somber attention. Yvenne looked beautiful. Sabé admired the fortitude of this girl, who had already begun adjusting to her new world as adeptly as one of her former feline charges. Yvenne Sorenst was one of the strongest people Sabé had ever met outside of her family. She would make a fine queen, a great mother, and a good friend.

The wedding took place in the great cavern, which had been polished until it sparkled. The ceremony itself was near the cave mouth, and from where she stood Sabé had a good view of the outside through the membrane screen the Gungans had provided. The landscape below was dressed very much like Yvenne, in white lace, bright and delicate. Even the blue of the ice matched the hints of sky blue that Danae Trillium had used to accent Yvenne's gown, which offset her red hair so strikingly.

Sabé glanced up at the crystal clear sky. Since Ben had departed she hadn't stopped looking up. The sky had taken him away. Sabé had stood on the grand balcony to watch the Jedi vessel depart Naboo. Her lips still burned with memory of his kiss and that sky presented the greatest chance of every laying eyes on him again.

Somewhat sadly, she turned back to the ceremony and tried to turn her thoughts only to happiness for her brother. It was difficult, though, for she knew with utmost certainty that the Naboo would never gather here this way for the wedding of Sabé Vána Naberrie.

She would only marry where she loved, and her heart was gone from her body, wandering the stars with a Jedi Master.

* * *

**Author's Notes**:

Well, here we are. The end of a journey. **Melyanna** and I started this story almost four years ago, and so many things about my life have changed since that time. I've been thinking about it a lot as I wrote these last few scenes with mixture of fondess and nostalgia.

I don't yet know if I'd like to write the third story or not. In order to write the summary I've promised I'd have to hammer out the structure and pacing of the fic, and knowing me that in itself might be inspiring enough to make me try, but if I do take that step I can assure you that the writing of it will probably be pretty slow.

A few thanks and acknowledgements. My erstwhile coauthor, of course, **Melyanna** who made a teensy comeback for this final post by suggesting a line of dialogue for Ceidron and helping me tie off the Ben/Sabé scene a thousand times better than I did in my original draft. To **Padawan Lunetta**, wherever she's gotten herself to, who was the inspiration for this obscure AU Naberrie family saga. To all of those readers who've actually hung on all this time, most especially **Miana Kenobi**, **Obischick**, **Shinar**, and **jade51999**, **jazzcat**, **Emerald Green Queen**, and **Moryan**.

The final Sabé/Ben scene is dedicated especially to **Miana Kenobi** and **MsRaven**, whose enthusiasm for our spunky princess and her knight kept me commmitted to this fic even when I barely wanted to look at it anymore. I would also like to thank the following three pieces of music for its inspiration:

**BEFORE**: (getting inspired for the scene) _**"One Day"**_ - from the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack _Pirates of the Carribbean: At World's End_. A friend of mine once said of this piece of music "This song pretty much has one purpose: to make the audience cry." The parallels between Will/Elizabeth in i Pirates /i and Sabé/Ben in this story (not the least of which is that Keira Knightly plays both characters - lol) helped me get in the mood for what I wanted the scene to feel like. Anybody who loves movie music needs to buy the Pirates 3 soundtrack immediately. It is, in short, a masterpiece.

**DURING**: (while I was writing the scene) _**"The Kiss"**_ - from the Original Motion Picture Soundtrack _The Last of the Mohicans_. This is one of the most spiritually evocative pieces of romantic music ever written. It pulls you in with a combination of a steady, sensual folk fiddle cue slowly overtaken by a loftier theme on strings that makes you just want to close your eyes and fly away somewhere.

**AFTER**: (completing the experience) _**"As Long as You're Mine"**_ - from the Original Broadway Cast Recording _Wicked_. "_And just for this moment, as long as you're mine, I've lost all resistance, and crossed all the lines._" The rest of the lyrics are equally as fitting. I love this song. It's beautiful, and has this amazing sense of sadness despite how huge and sweeping and heavily-orchestrated it is.

Finally, for anyone who wants to know the ultimate fate of some of these characters, but doesn't want to hold out patience for either the summary or the fic itself, you can find it all out in a roundabout way by trolling through the dusty old archives of the _**Jedi Council Fan Fic Forums**_ at theforce(dot)net and reading the stories in this series as written by **Padawan Lunetta** and **Melyanna**. All are set in the New Jedi Order era, and in some cases draw upon NJO canon, but only when convenient. ;-)

These three are probably the most important:

**(Warning to the faint of heart**: These stories are unabashedly fluffy and full of quite a lot of deliberate cliché. Let's just say that **Lunita** insists her fairy tales follow form. ;-) )

_**Clouded **_**Memories **by **Melyanna**. Anakin Solo is surprised when he makes an emerency landing, only to find himself on the legendary planet of Naboo, long believed to have been destroyed with the rise of the Empire. It has, in fact, been hidden for two decades, but more surprising to Anakin are the connections he discovers there to his own past.

_**Shadows of a Past Long Forgotten **_by **Padawan Lunetta**. Helaine Trillium, former Padawan to Jedi Master Lanelle Caine, awakes from cryogenic stasis sixty years after the world she knew came to an end. She has no memory of her former life, but a friendship with a handsome Prince begins to spark more than just her memory.

_**Why Love Was Forbidden in the Old Jedi Order **_by **Padwan Lunetta** and **Melyanna**. If you think the title is long, wait till you see the fic. LOL. This one, not unlike _Forget Me Not_ is a sappy romp through several different pairings of mostly Original Characters. For those of you who've read this story, I'll drop the following tidbit: Pavol is Ceidron's grandson, but I won't reveal the whole story behind that at this time ;-).

You can also find direct links to these stories if you go to my live journal account (sache8(dot)livejournal(dot)com) and hit the "forget me not" tag on the tag list to the side. The direct links are in the bottom of the posting of this last chapter.


End file.
